


whatever a moon has always meant

by glorious_clio



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen, I make the rules here, Miscarriage, Slow-ish burn, True Love, alderaan is a matriarchy, also i've thrown a lot of canon out and started over, grown up relationships with communication and snuggling, some smut idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: “It’s a transitional time,” Breha said. Indeed, she had never been a part of a greater one. “Why don’t you just call me Breha?”“Alright, Breha,” he agreed. “In that case, you have to call me Bail.”It’s a tricky balance to court a Queen, compounded by a shared history and a desire to serve in politics yourself. Bail and Breha are often affected by outside events, opinions, and pressures, but with so much in common, it seems inevitable that they are caught in each others’ orbit.





	1. no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

**Author's Note:**

> Queen Breha doesn’t have a single line of dialogue, so naturally she’s one of my favorite characters. Likewise, I adore Bail Organa. I’ve done my best with what Wookieepedia has to offer, but of course, I ignore what doesn’t work, and try and reconcile with whatever I can. I hope you’ll forgive any mistakes. I very intentionally did not read Leia, Princess of Alderaan -- it came out halfway through writing, and I thought it best to not let Claudia Gray (whom I love) influence this at all. I will probably read it as soon as I’m done posting this story.
> 
> Thank you a million times to mrstater for her amazing beta skills!

 

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]  
e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)  
                                                   i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

 

* * *

 

_Dear Diary,_

_Another day, another exhausting day, at Mother’s bedside. She grows weaker by the hour. Her physician helps her, but I’ve been taking on more and more of the Queen’s work._

_I shall miss her terribly, I know. In many ways, I already miss her. In other ways, I feel resentful towards her. Why did she wait so long to have children? If she had started earlier on that path, I wouldn’t be feeling this way, I would be feeling more prepared, more worldly. Or perhaps, I would have had older siblings to take on the business of ruling, and I could spend these last few days focused solely on Mother. And then still have the rest of my adolescence to  myself, to have adventures, find my path. Deara, darling Deara, has been a champion at Mother’s bedside. But then, she isn’t taken out of the sickroom to take care of things our mother cannot.  She sketches little tableaus for her, tells her about art school. Though we both want to have Mother as long as we can, she is eager to return to her studies. But selfishly, I hope she will return as one of my advisors._

_I hate how selfish I am right now._

_My mother is dying, and when she crosses that particular threshold, I shall be Queen. It fills me with a steely sort of feeling. Though Mother has taught me all she knows of ruling, of life, of swordplay, though I have studied rulers and politicians before me, though I have learned the best I could, I know what awaits me. Loneliness. Even in rooms full of people._

_I’m meant to be napping -- Mother’s physician says I look too tired to stay at Mother’s bedside tonight. But I shall be awake until dawn anyway. The steel in my back is heavy, it gets heavier by the minute, as if my mother’s resolve is flooding into me, and when she is done, she’ll be gone. I’d rather be by her side now, wiping her brow, talking quietly of pleasant things, perhaps putting color on her nails. She always loves a manicure. Instead I am banished to my chamber on the off chance I might catch up on some sleep._

_Perhaps, diary, I can fool them into thinking I’ve slept by taking a shower._

_Until later,  
_ _B_

 

Grey was the color rulers wore, even at funerals. This was Breha’s future, she’d always known it, even when she wore the white that was expected of the _dauphine_ . Being that this was the funeral of her mother, she wore a heavy veil, which was actually kind of nice. She felt protected from the grief of the mourners, safe in her own space. Deara clung to Breha’s hand, and she kept squeezing back. _I’m here, I’m here_.

Memorial services on Alderaan were long affairs. There was a consecration of the body by a priestess, the deliverance to the burial grounds, followed by a reception that would last until dawn the next day, when the mourning party would return to the priestess in her temple for a renewal ceremony. The streets were full of mourners, ready to witness the funeral processions. Aldra Palace was full of people, too. The crush of the collective grief in the public receiving rooms was almost overwhelming.

The reception had just begun, and Breha had only greeted half her guests. The receiving line seemed so long. Deara hadn’t let go of her left hand; the two sisters clung to each other for dear life. The lights were dimmed to reflect the mournful atmosphere and the light outside, a long winter’s night. It was almost poetic, but the hall was drafty with its high ceilings. Breha was grateful for long sleeves and her silver-gray gloves, and for her own long braid that fell parallel to her spine.

The kindnesses of the mourners ran together: “I’m-sorry-for-your-loss, Everything-happens-for-a-reason, We-are-never-given-more-than-we-can-bear, Your-mother-was-a-wise-and-great-Queen, We-loved-her, Long-live-the-Queen, Time-heals-all-wounds, She’s-in-a-better-place, At-least-her-suffering-is-ended, I’m-so-sorry, I’m-so-sorry, I’m-so-sorry....”

“May peace find you and your sister,” said a low, gentle voice.  

Breha smiled and looked up at Bail Antilles, looking crisp and perfect in his formal governor’s tunic, a black armband around his bicep.

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to make out her expression under the veil.

“Thank you, Governor Antilles. I think that’s the kindest thing anyone’s said to me... today, anyway.”

 _Yes, Breha, very queenly._ She tried not to cringe.

He offered her a smile that she could just make out through the thick netting. “If I may offer my assistance beyond platitudes?”

“I will be sure to call on you,” she replied. She wanted to keep talking to him, but Mayor Vincenzo Gufrai waited behind Bail in the receiving line. Gufrai was not a patient man.

Bail bowed and moved on to Deara before leaving the receiving line.

Eventually, the guests had all moved into the throne room, Deara and Breha followed them inside. People were quietly conversing in small groups, and Breha began moving between them, chatting and sharing stories of her mother. Old friends and new were there, Anla Ran and Miko Caltrel had even managed to make Breha laugh at a joke. But Breha was unable to forget while everyone was there. The throne was draped in black -- Breha had been unable to look at it directly.

By four in the morning, Breha was growing unsteady on her feet, but she was bravely trying to stay upright, careful not to stay in any one conversation too long. Deara was sitting across the large hall, her usually bright eyes glassy with exhaustion.

Breha swayed again, and she felt a warm hand on her elbow.

“Your Grace, have you eaten anything tonight?”

Breha turned to see Bail trying to peer through the netting. His mouth was tight, his eyes looked so _intense,_ as he searched for a glimmer of her expression.

She shook her head to clear it, but also in answer to his question.

“In that case, I beg you to join my family at our table. It would be an honor.”

“Very well, under one condition,” she said, her voice firm.

“Which is?”

“You stop addressing me as Your Grace.”

A smile blossomed on his face. “And how should I address you?”

“It’s a transitional time,” Breha said. Indeed, she had never been a part of a greater one, princess to queen, her mother’s burial ceremonies to the renewal in just a few hours. “Why don’t you just call me Breha?”

She could see his hesitation, so she pushed on.

“You’ve called me Breha before....”

“Alright, Breha,” he agreed. “In that case, you have to call me Bail. This way.” He tightened his hold on her elbow as he led her through the crowd of mourners to a small table where his sisters and parents were seated.

Breha couldn’t see Deara from here, but she tried to let go of that thought. Deara would be fine.

“Sit here,” Bail said, pulling out a chair. “Everyone, this is Breha,” he said casually, as if she needed to be introduced to his family.

She appreciated his intention, however, it set the tone for how they treated her -- as a friend instead of as their future Queen. Ms. and Mr. Antilles greeted her gently, as did Bail’s three sisters, Rouge, Celly, and Tia. All four women of the Antilles family had their hair tightly braided, young Tia had soft white roses tucked into her hair. All wore soft blues and purples. Breha thought, not for the first time, that everyone in Aldra Palace looked like part of a bruise. Perhaps they were, suffering the pain from the loss of Queen Bara Organa.

“How are you, my dear?” Ms. Antilles asked.

“A little... tired,” Breha admitted.

“I can imagine,” Mr. Antilles said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

Tia, Bail’s youngest sister, took Breha’s hand, the same one Deara had been holding. “I’m applying to University soon,” she offered.

Breha squeezed Tia’s hand, grateful for the change of subject. “Where are you applying?”

She crinkled her nose. “Not Aldra University. No offense.”

The table laughed quietly at Tia’s rejection of her older siblings’ choice in schools.

“To each their own, Tia. I’m sure you’ll pick the right school for you,” Breha said.

Bail returned with a large plate of savory things for Breha. “What’s so funny?”

“We were talking about University,” Breha said innocently.

“Oh? I suppose you’re telling everyone how you beat me in every exam,” Bail said. He sat at Breha’s right and placed the plate in front of her.  

“No,” Breha replied. She let go of Tia’s hand and pushed her veils back to eat, not caring who saw her tear rimmed eyes and blotchy skin. She was among friends. “I was going to tell them about that creative poetry class we took.”

To her delight, Bail’s face went completely red.  

His family laughed and even Bail chuckled once he realized Breha was joking.  

Breha just listened to the familial banter as she tucked into her plate, dumplings and potatoes and roast and a leafy ruccia salad with root vegetables. She was just finishing off a dinner roll with plenty of heavy moof butter when Bail got up and returned with a plate of berry cobbler and a cup of caf.

“Thank you,” she said. Breha wrapped her hands around the mug and let the heat seep into her fingers. Her stomach was full and she felt a little warmer, a little steadier. She ate a few bites of the dessert, but mostly let the caf flood her system. After all, it would be ages before she got to sleep, there were three hours until dawn.  When the cup was empty, she pulled her veil down again and got to her feet. If she stayed any longer with the Antilleses, people would begin to whisper. Or worse.

“Thank you again for letting me join you,” she said. “If you will excuse me, I must check on my sister and freshen up a bit before the renewal.”

“Of course, Breha. Please call on us any time,” Bail said, standing too. He offered a small bow of his head.

She nearly responded in kind, but remembered again that she was the incumbent Queen, and slipped away as gracefully as she could.

  
***  


It was well into the afternoon after the renewal before Breha was finally alone. Zanz, her handmaiden, had hurriedly undressed her before she was dismissed. Breha had managed to brush her teeth and wash her face before collapsing into her childhood bed. Exhaustion lapped at her. The shades were drawn, the curtains were down, and there was barely a sliver of light in the room, save from what crept under the door. Breha groaned and rolled away from the light, facing the wall instead. She clamped her eyes shut, so she heard, rather than saw her bedroom door open.

“If you are an assassin,” she mumbled, “be quick about it.”

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Deara said. A rustle of fabric signaled her sister had crossed her arms at the gallows humor.

Breha rolled back to face her sister. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She lifted up a corner of her bedding in an invitation. It had been a long time since Deara had crawled into bed with her. She used to do it whenever it stormed.

“You’re forgiven,” Deara said, making her way to the bed.

The sisters each found a comfortable position, close, but not quite touching; their braids, however, crossed unintentionally.

Breha let her eyes close.

“I saw you with the Antilles family,” Deara said.

“Mmm,” Breha replied. “Governor Antilles wanted to make sure I had something to eat. Tia’s thinking about university. You should tell her about Belleau-a-Lir.” Deara attended art school, and Tia always had a love of the theatre; Bail’s little sister might do well there.

“Governor Antilles,” Deara scoffed.

“Hush. I’m trying to sleep.”

“You can’t hide from me, you know,” Deara said. Breha could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. “You took off your veil at the table, and I can see you blushing now.”

“How can you possibly tell if I’m blushing when the lights are out?” Breha asked.

“Do you deny it?” Deara rolled over to face her sister.

“Categorically.” Breha still refused to open her eyes.

“Five whole syllables. Yes, I _really_ believe you.”

Rather than respond, Breha quickly pulled her pillow out from her head and smacked her sister with a muffled _wump_.

Deara squeaked, “Hey! Not fair!”

“When do you go back to Belleau-a-Lir?” Breha said, tugging the pillow away again from her sister. Deara gripped it, refusing to give it up, using it as a face shield. Breha had sat up to aim properly, but now the attack was over, she knew she couldn’t lay back down until she had gotten her pillow back, lest Deara retaliated.

She needn’t have worried. The fight went out of her sister and she pushed the pillow off her face and back into Breha’s spot on her bed. “Probably next semester,” admitted Deara.

“So soon?”

“Do you need me to stay?”

 _Yes_ , Breha thought. “You were so good to come home when Mother... turned. But you should go back to your studies.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Deara said.

“You don’t.”

“Yes I do. You’re thinking that you’re going to be alone, and that it would be selfish of you to ask me to stay. But one, you’re not alone, and two, you’re the least selfish person I know.”

Breha brushed away silent tears, but didn’t trust herself to say anything. She was glad of the darkness.  

“You can ask for help if you need it, Breha,” Deara said. “Even of me.”

“I’ll remember,” Breha said, her voice low. “Besides, we’ve a few more weeks until your semester begins.”

“Yes, and _someone_ has a coronation next week.”

Breha groaned and flopped back down, pulling the covers over her head. “Don’t remind me.”

Deara chuckled, and it was the last sound she made before both sisters fell asleep.


	2. a pen is dreadfully afraid / of her of this of the smile’s two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breha has spent her entire life preparing to be Queen, and with the coronation just days away, she’s fighting to balance her past freedom with her new responsibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to mrstater for her beta work!
> 
> Title from [even a pencil has fear to] by e.e. cummings

Breha found herself working hard in the run up to the coronation; the business of ruling, meeting with leaders, fine-tuning last minute ceremonial details, and, it being Breha, swordplay in the Palace’s training room to try and work through some of the stress. The grief of her mother’s death weighed a little lighter when she held a rapier.

The dress had been started months ago, when mother had first fallen ill. Her prognosis had never been good, and Queen Bara insisted that the work begin. “Indulge me, B,” she had requested from a tearful Breha. “For I’d rather help plan your coronation than my state funeral.” But it was difficult to go through this without her. Breha often caught herself thinking about her mother, how she would have phrased a statement, or commented on an event, or tweaked some aspect of the ceremony.

It worked out that Breha had one of the most elaborate coronation gowns in the history of their constitutional monarchy. High-necked, yellow-gold silk over a white slip, simple and structured, the dress bore ceremonious slashes to denote Breha’s prowess as a swordswoman. That fact would be punctuated by the sword at her side. Ceremonial, of course, not sharp enough to cut butter, but still heavy. 

Despite the slashes, the gown was unwieldy to wear even before the sword, especially under the traditional white cape that would cover every inch of her during the procession into the Goddess’s temple. She would then lose the heavy cloak, but gain a heavier crown. 

She’d practiced wearing it. Deara had teasingly challenged her sister to a sparring match while wearing it, but Breha decided that was probably a bad idea. Tempting, though. The heavy silver thing would look rather dramatic while the sisters crossed blades, but Breha didn’t trust her head not to wobble. And the weight would throw off her attacks. 

Breha was still in cabinet meetings every day; the business of being head of state was business that would not wait. Mostly these were dull formalities, as the elected Governors did much of the nitty gritty. It was nice seeing Bail every day, though, the youngest and handsomest Governor there. She did not let that distract her. In truth, nothing could have distracted her from the grief she still felt and the crown that hovered over her. It felt like a threat.

She dismissed the Governors the night before the coronation, knowing she’d be seeing them the next day. With a great deal of effort, she walked over to the window in her study. She liked being in this room, she always had, especially when her mother was Queen. It was full of light from giant windows, there were shelves of ancient books here, comfortable seating, and of course, the heavy state desk that Breha used to be small enough to hide under while Mother had worked on endless reports. It had been an odd childhood.

Breha steadied herself, pressing her hand to the cold window pane. She stared out at mountains, and the River Wuitho, conscious of a thousand metaphors. Behind her, she heard the door quietly open. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I appear to have dropped my stylus,” Governor Antilles said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. He hovered in the doorway. 

Breha turned and offered a small smile. “Easily done. Let me help you find it.” She gestured him in and he came, dragging his feet a bit. 

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he started, but she'd already come around the desk, her eyes on the richly carpeted floor.

“What color is it?”

“It’s gray,” he said. 

“Well that’s no help.” She smiled. It would blend in with the dark gray carpets. There was only one thing for it. She dropped to her knees, pressed her cheek to the floor and looked for the change in height. 

It only took a minute. “There it is, by the chair Governor Kir was sitting in.”

She pointed and Bail fumbled around by the chair legs until he finally found it.

“Thank you,” he said.

She sat on her heels for a moment, staring at the spot the stylus had occupied. 

Bail awkwardly reached down to her, and she startled. 

“Oh, thank you.” She placed her hands in his and he gently pulled her to her feet again.

She didn’t know quite what to say after that. She had no reason to keep him, he probably had no reason to stay. But she wanted him here nonetheless. 

He was still holding her hands.

She swallowed. Decided to be brave. “I don’t believe I ever said how glad I am that you were elected Governor.” 

He squeezed her hands, then gently let them go. Her own immediately felt cold, despite the warmth in the room. 

“That’s ...kind of you to say. You know I had hoped to serve your mother longer....”

She glanced up.

“That was probably the wrong thing to say,” he said, catching a glimpse of her face.  “You know my aspirations, I’ve always wanted to serve in the Galactic Senate. Governor is a major step towards that. But it would have been... easier to serve under Queen Bara.”

“Instead of her young daughter?” 

Bail quirked a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s only two years difference than us. You know that’s not why.”

She flushed and turned. “I  _ do _ know. I... did not expect this to be quite so difficult. I lost her too soon, and lost you.”

Their brief romance in University had caused the paparazzi to lose their minds, selling millions and millions of copies of sordid stories. The  _ Dauphine _ connected to the powerful Antilles family, especially since Bail had political aspirations of his own, was too juicy a scandal to resist. Opposition from other powerhouse families was loud, and breathtakingly cruel. But they also weren’t wrong - Breha could not marry a planetary official. A loophole in the constitution meant that if he was elected to the Galactic Senate she’d have that chance to marry him, but then he’d be on Coruscant for his work. And she’d be here for hers. 

She returned to the window to study the effects of the sunset on the mountains.  

After a moment, she trusted her voice enough to ask, “Do you think I’ll be a good Queen? And don’t say yes unless you mean it objectively.”

“I can’t be objective about you,” Bail admitted, stepping to her shoulder. The both stared out the window. “But yes, you are willing to put the planet before yourself, your dreams. And,” he chuckled now, “you’re able to get different perspectives to solve a problem. The emergency of my dropped stylus will no doubt create headlines tomorrow.”

“No doubt because you dropped it on purpose,” Breha said. 

“Another scandal for the gossip holos.” He was trying to joke, but his mouth was a grimace. 

All Breha wanted to do was lean into him, let him hold her while she just breathed through her tension about tomorrow. It was so tempting, she missed his touch. Instead, she sighed. “I must go, I’m meeting Deara for dinner.”

“And I’m going home to eat with my family.”

“Tell them hello for me. As Breha, not as Your Grace.”

He offered a real smile this time. “I will.”  He bowed his head and left the room. 

When he was gone again, Breha turned back to the window. She wasn’t lying about having to meet Deara, but she had a few more minutes, according to the chrono on the wall. Time enough for more window gazing. Deara would understand. Her face was warm, so she leaned against the window, pressing her cheek to the cool glass. 

Her eyes followed the River Wuitho upstream, back into the mountains. In her mind, she followed it up to the snowy peaks that were the mighty river’s source. She allowed her mind to wander back to her visit to the source, to the Cloudshape Falls that she had visited once while still a student. 

 

***

 

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed. 

“Yeah, they’ll do,” Bail teased. 

She bumped shoulders with him, made possible by the fact that she stood on a slightly higher patch of ground. But on the whole, the two of them were completely content to stand in silence, watching the Cloudshape Falls. 

The spray around the falls seemed to float like spun sugar, catching the light and throwing tiny rainbows. 

She was just eighteen, and after many royal tours with her mother and sister, Breha was taking her first trip that had no schedule or official appearance worked in. Just a normal camping trip with friends from University, like any other University student. Or any other citizen of Alderaan. 

“And you come here every summer?” Breha asked Bail.

“Just about. It seems odd to be here without a gaggle of sisters.”

Breha laughed. “Yes, it’s been several hours since I’ve seen Deara. I wonder if she’s still mad at me for leaving this weekend?”

“I’m sure she’ll get over it when you tell her how uncomfortable it is sleeping on the ground instead of in the Palace.”

“Why, Bail Antilles, are you a snob?”

His dark eyes twinkled at her, a grin played around his lips. “Truth be told, camping is only fun because it’s temporary.”  

She smiled back at him, and neither of them said anything for a few moments. The noise of the falls was deafening anyway, or maybe she just didn’t want to hear anything else. She liked feeling this tall, looking him in the eye. They were so brown and warm and lively, reflecting light back at her.

Breha felt a blush coming on, felt herself leaning a little bit closer to him and those strong shoulders, when- 

“A little help over here?”

Miko Caltrel and Anla Ran were hoisting their food into a nearby tree. The Cloudshape Falls was a remote, though popular camping ground, and there was a clearing with tall trees and a picnic table and benches that some generous campers had left about ten years ago, according to Bail. But they were far enough off the beaten track that they had to respect the wildlife, and that meant keeping food up and out of reach from hungry visitors. 

“Yeah, some of us know you have to prepare a campsite before you can really appreciate the scenery!” Anla teased. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bail laughed. He went over to them and took one of the loose cables.

“What can I do?” Breha said. She'd never been camping before, but she was determined to help.

“How about you unpack the tent?” Miko suggested. They nodded at the canvas bag.

“Alright,” she said. She unzipped the bag and began unpacking. 

Between the four of them, it didn’t take long to put up the tent, get a campfire going, and show Breha the basics of what she’d be doing for the next two days, mainly what to do if she got lost in the woods. She already knew the basics of navigating by the stars, and the friends spent that first night around their fire, eating dinner and swapping their favorite celestial tales.  

Breha smiled around the circle at her friends, Anla Ran was a tall woman with long dark hair that she usually dressed elaborately but today was woven into simple coronet braids around her head. Anla had also forgone her normally colorful makeup. Her dark eyes seemed to snap in the firelight, full of fun and wit. A literature major, she and Breha were in the same dueling club at Uni, though neither of them brought their weapon of choice on this weekend trip. Miko Caltrel also wore their hair in a dark braid down their back, their smile was easy and good-humored as they swapped stories. They had a round face, dark eyes and hair, and like everyone else, was taller than Breha. Miko, Breha, and Bail were all studying political science, Miko with a focus in intergalactic law.  

And when Bail, Anla, and Miko had found out Breha had never been camping -- properly -- they demanded the privilege of taking her. 

Queen Bara had been reluctant to let Breha go, but Breha was legally an adult,  _ and _ she arranged her own schedule. It was the little victories, Breha thought, laughing at a joke of Miko’s. The little things she could do to claim her own life separate from her duties as future queen. 

The five days went quickly, the four slept in the same tent, went skinny dipping one memorable night after a bit too much ale, and spent their afternoons on hikes to local beauty spots. 

Breha was careful to never be alone with Bail, tried not to let her eyes gravitate to him too much (the skinny dipping incident had been a unique challenge).  

The last morning, though, she found herself helping him strike the tent while Anla washed their breakfast things and Miko repacked their other gear into packs.

“Did you have fun?” Bail asked.  

“Yes! Although you’re right about camping being temporary fun. I miss my mattress. And I think the first thing I’m going to do is take a shower.” 

Bail blushed, which made her blush. Breha was sure she smelled like smoke and a little more ...natural than she was used to, but folding the tent poles next to Bail, she still felt the heat coming off his skin, and it made her glad that she’d taken off her outer layers to tackle this particular job.  

Though she wondered if Anla had offered to wash the dishes precisely so Breha would be forced into helping Bail. 

They realized simultaneously that they were falling into each other’s orbit and quickly restarted packing the tent, embarrassment tinging their cheeks brighter shades of pink. 

Finally the packing was done, and the four went down to the bottom of the falls with their gear, taking one last look at the mist where the Cloudshape Falls got their name. 

“We should do this again next year,” Anla said wistfully. 

“Definitely, Miko agreed.  

Bail and Breha said nothing. Instead, Bail gently took Breha’s hand. It was so warm over hers and she felt her heartbeat pick up.  

“Well, shall we?” Anla said. “I have to meet with my advisor tomorrow about my thesis. Lord knows I should shower before then.”

“And maybe prep some ideas for him?” Breha suggested. Anla had been flitting between ideas for months, unable to settle on a topic, let alone narrow it down. 

“Details,” Anla said, waving her hand. “C’mon, Miko. Have you heard my latest idea?”

Miko groaned as they turned to follow Anla down the path.  

“I don’t really want to go back,” Breha confessed to the Falls, to Bail. 

“You’re expected,” Bail said grimly.

She sighed. “I know. I just wish.... I wish I didn’t feel like I was living in one of the trashy holodramas Deara and I make fun of.”

Bail laughed. Breha squeezed his hand.  

Both of them were thinking of Alderaan, how a queen was expected to marry someone outside of Alderaan’s political sphere, to avoid a power imbalance. The Antilles family was known for their political service, and Bail hoped to enter politics himself. Breha couldn’t be selfish to tell him not to -- he’d make a wonderful leader.

“Kiss me,” she said quietly.

“Do we really want to open that door?”

She sighed and turned away, but Bail still had her hand. He gave her a gentle tug, pulling her into his arms. She pressed herself closer, lifting her chin. Bail hesitated, hovering over her. She matched his gaze, daring him on as the roar of the Falls echoed louder in her ears. Finally, he leaned down to kiss her softly. His lips were gentle and she opened her mouth to melt further into him. She lost track of time as she reached up, tangling fingers in his short hair, his arms wrapped tightly around the small of her back. But all too soon, he pulled back again.  

Breha was suddenly terribly thirsty. 

“I-”

“We should go,” Bail said kindly.  

“Yes.” She stepped out of the circle of his arms. Breha knelt down to pick up her pack, and on impulse, she also grabbed a small stone from the rocky shore. She tucked it into her pocket. Though she was a bit old to still be contributing to her childhood Keepsake Chest, she didn’t want to forget this kiss.  

Silently now, she fell into step behind Bail as they hurried to catch up to the others. 

Bail had been right about hesitating to open that door. Neither of them had been able to properly close it since that day. 


	3. cover her briefness in singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coronations are lavish and lonely. Ruling is work, but Breha will still find ways to be herself. She hopes to, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mrstater for betaing this chapter! 
> 
> The title is from [the moon is hiding in] by e.e. cummings.

Bail Antilles had only attended one coronation before. His kinsman, Mellowyn, was the Supreme Governor of Birren, and his inauguration to that (largely ceremonial) office had lasted weeks, in three phases, a marathon of revelry.

By comparison, today would feel like a sprint. Or at least, that was what Bail told himself.

Princess Breha Organa entered from the east side of her throne room. She processed wrapped in a pure white cloak with no visible ornamentation. Her hair was woven into small braids that caught and curled, separated and joined, all the way down her back. It looked like an elaborate lacy veil that cascaded, black over the white mantle. Bail followed behind in her procession, given that he was an elected Governor with his own small role to play today. Holy choral music surrounded them from the elite choir from Belleau-a-Lir’s high temple.

Once she reached the throne, she turned to face the citizens of Alderaan. Deara was there to receive the white mantle from her sister. Because Breha had no children, Deara was next in line, so the cloak was now hers to protect, though she would not yet wear it until the end of the ceremony.  

Deara came to the first seat on the side, next to the High Priestess and the Governors. Bail sat at the end of the row, farthest from Breha. Still his eyes were drawn to the throne.

Breha was brilliant in a dress of gold. The Queen would be expected to wear shades of moonlight as part of her office, but today she was the sun, the dress setting off her dark skin to a shine. Everything was an elaborate metaphor. Alderaan’s lack of moon meant long seasons, a wobbly orbit, small oceans that were mostly stagnant. Today she was the sun; tomorrow she would reflect the light back to her people, stabilize them, mark time and rituals for them and with them.

The High Priestess from the temple came forward to bless Breha, and then Bail stood, along with Governors Sera Lahr and Channa Mai.

“Is your Majesty willing to take the Oath?” Bail asked.

“I am willing,” replied Breha, her voice calm. Her eyes lingered on him a moment and then moved to Governor Lahr.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Alderaan, according to our respective laws and customs and faiths?” Lahr asked.

“I solemnly promise so to do,” Breha promised, before moving her attention to Governor Mai.

“Will you, to your power, cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

“All this I promise to do,” Breha vowed.

Next was the presentation of Sword of State by Governor Teandel Kir - she made her way to the throne and presented the heavy thing to Breha. Someone had polished it to a shine, which added to the dazzling picture they were all painting over Breha.

“Receive this Sword, delivered to you by the hands of us the Governors and beings of Alderaan. With this sword do justice, stop the growth of iniquity, help and defend widows and orphans, restore the things that are gone to decay, maintain the things that are restored, punish and reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order: that doing these things you may be glorious in all virtue in your reign.”

For her part, Breha was very solemn as she accepted what Bail knew to be her weapon of choice, even if the thing had never seen an actual battle. Breha stood, slid it into the scabbard belted around her waist. She then unbuckled it and leaned it against the throne. At the ready, but not in a way to look awkward as she sat. A resting sword fit her image as a queen of peace.  

Governor Kir resumed her seat as Governor Lynorri Triball approached the throne.

 _This is all a bit tedious_ , Bail thought, even though he had been a little nervous for his part. He wondered how Breha felt, but she was still wearing that calm mask on her face, her mouth arranged in a benevolent line.

Governor Lynorri Triball was up next. She carried a large orb made of glass, one that only looked light.

“Receive this Orb and remember that all of Alderaan is yours to balance and to protect, support Alderaan’s beings, and they shall in turn support you.  And as you are this day consecrated to be our Head and Queen.”

Breha took the orb from Governor Triball and gently placed it in her own lap. Her fingers lightly cradled it.

 _And now, finally, to business_ , Bail thought as First Governor Anim Chur got to his feet. He approached the throne and bowed to Breha, who inclined her head at him, granting permission. He left the hall for a small closet behind them and returned with the state crown on a pillow.

Now the logic of a low hair style occurred to Bail. What must have taken hours was all to make the task of holding a crown easier, no hair fighting for space on Breha’s head.

“Receive this Crown with the warmest blessings from the beings of Alderaan, and remember it is merely a symbol of honor and glory, of power and righteousness. May your reign make you equal to these; may you bring these to Alderaan.”

Breha remained very still as the crown was placed on her head, and just like that, she was Queen.

But they weren’t done yet.

Deara approached the throne as Governor Chur stepped back. She still carried the white cloak. But before Breha helped her with it, Deara knelt and swore her oath of loyalty to Queen Breha.

Breha stood, carefully setting the glass orb back on the throne, and lifted her sister up. With a practiced hand, she draped the white cloak around her sister’s shoulders before kissing both her cheeks. She also lingered a moment, Bail could see her lips moving. Both sisters were smiling as Deara returned to her seat. Then Governor Chur swore his oath, then Triball, and so on down the line until it was finally Bail’s turn.

He could remember swearing this oath to her mother, upon his inauguration. But it seemed heavier now, more meaningful. He would serve Breha all his days. He could have made this very oath the day he met her, or maybe whenever they stole all those kisses, or the short days of their courtship. He would have sworn the oath even if she had asked him to pick a path that wasn’t politics.

“I, Bail Antilles, Governor of Juranno, do become your liege man of life and limb; and faith and truth I will serve unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks.”

She had slipped back into solemnity after Deara had sat, and her eyes seemed full of the gravitas that was standard issue with a crown and sword. Her fingers were tight around the orb. Bail offered her a sheepish smile before he went back to his seat.

Now the choir began again as the procession out of the hall began, Deara helped her sister rebuckle the scabbard as Breha cradled the orb. They went out into the streets of Aldra to present them with their new Queen.

Bail was last in the procession, but it didn’t matter. He would follow her anywhere.

 

***

 

_Dear Diary_

_Two hours of makeup, three hours of hair, plus thirty minutes of getting me into my dress. It’s done. Everyone says I performed my part admirably, even people I trust to tell me the truth are saying so. The ceremony was thankfully short. The procession through Aldra seemed to fly by, though it felt the most restful part of the day, the orb and sword left safely at Aldra palace where I couldn’t drop them. (If I ever get all the rose petals out of the speeder, it’ll be a miracle. Though I guess that’s not really my job.)_

_Deara has the robe (for now), I have the crown. And all of these loyalty oaths. It’s an odd feeling. What do you do with a loyalty oath? I am not a tyrant, I don’t demand loyalty or love. I just want to work hard for my people. Now that I’m here._

_The banquet was long, full of good food and probably too many Toniray toasts. I’m a little worried it went to my head. I asked_ _Bail_ _Governor Antilles to open the dancing with me. He seemed surprised, and I probably shouldn’t have asked him, of all people. But there was no one else I wanted to dance with. I’m sure it’ll be splashed all over the gossip holos tomorrow. I don’t really care. I just wanted one thing to be mine today. And a dance with Bail Antilles seemed to fit my mood._

_It was only one dance. No one can be too mad. I hope._

_Deara is tucked into bed next to me, dawn is breaking over the mountains. I wish I could say it’s been a long time since I was up so late, but I can’t, with Mother’s funeral so recent. I missed her today, but then, had she been there, all that fuss would not have been necessary._

_My makeup has been removed, my hair is back in a normal braid. The dress has been taken away, I should probably ask what is going to happen to it in the future. I confess I have no idea. Another thing I should have asked Mother, what to do with the coronation gown. Surely some advisor knows the protocol. I don’t much care at the moment, too tired._

_Luckily, tomorrow is a day of rest. Good timing, I guess._

_Until later,  
_ ~~_Queen Breha Organa of Alderaan  
_ ~~_B_

 

***

 

Deara returned to University just after the Holy Days. Breha couldn’t blame her - she cherished her own uni memories, and with so many official duties Deara hadn’t had much time for her elaborate sculptures.

Still, the separation had been harder than either of them wanted to admit.

Breha watched from a window as Deara left the palace grounds on her little red speeder that she had purchased with money from her first blind sale.  She knew her sister wouldn’t be home until after the next semester (that was, barring any tragedies).

So that left... ruling. Actual day-to-day reports and studies and appearances and statements. And making it all look easy, somehow.

This is what she was trained for. Breha went back to her chambers, did her hair in her tightest braids, put on her favorite dress (with the slashes all the way up the billowing sleeves over her tighter blue undershirt; it made her feel like she wore wings). The gray skirt fell all the way to the floor, and she wore comfortable flat shoes. It was no sense wearing heels on days like today, all the ministers knew she was short. They would bend to her.

She stashed her stylus and secure datapad in a wide pocket and stepped into the breakfast room. Trying not to think about how she didn’t have anyone to talk to, she helped herself to a light pastry, a bowl of fruit, and a cup of tea. She opened up her datapad, scrolling through the public social sharing platforms, taking the pulse of the people who posted on such things. Sometimes it was trivial, sometimes it was emotional, sometimes it was just nonsense. But it was good to see sometimes. Sipping her tea, she flipped over to official channels, taking in the news from the major cities, checking in with regions she hadn’t heard from in a bit as they cycled through the news. Another sip of tea, gone cold and bitter from oversteeping.

She glanced up at the time, and she was neither late nor early. Standing up, she swept out of her apartments and down the stairs, joined by Daska Mantisa -- her mother’s secretary and now hers. Daska followed Breha down to her first meeting of the day, reading her schedule the whole way.

“Eight-thirty, meeting with Mayor Gufrai, nine o'clock, we leave for the Ando Speeder Works where you'll be presented with a small speeder. Ten thirty-five, inspection of food and agricultural organization will present you with a Starblossom tree. Ten fifty-five, the new home for orphans. You will preside over the laying of the cornerstone; same speech as last Monday. Eleven forty-five, back here for a conference here with the press. One o'clock sharp, lunch with Senator Elara Jor. And at three thirty, your meeting with the Governors. Governor Mai will be holo-ing in from her district office.”

All of this took the pair of them to the door of Breha’s office. “Is that all?” she asked.

“After that, you’ll be free. I understand the Opera has a new production of _The Glass Sea_. It’s been some time since there’s been a royal performance,” Daska said briskly, but with a smile to further sweeten the treat.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Breha replied.

“I’ll see to it that your box is ready. Will you have guests joining you?”

She paused, thinking about who she would like to invite. She should invite the Governors, but then, Mai might be offended. She certainly didn’t want to spend the evening with Mayor Gufrai. And Deara was gone now.

“Extend the invitation to Anla and Miko,” Breha said with a smile. She missed her friends. “And... Bail Antilles.”

Daska pursed her lips but did not argue. “Very well, Your Grace. I’ll plan the details with their staffs.”

“You are goddess-sent, Daska.”

“You won’t be saying that after hearing tomorrow’s schedule,” Daska said with a wry grin.

Breha opened the door to her office, ready to begin her work.  


 

The day was the whirlwind promised, but almost before she knew it, she was being buttoned into a beautiful evening gown, slate gray with blue stones glittering at her waist and falling to her hem. Her hair was in a coronet braid wound around her head, with silver threads braided in. It was a compromise she liked, the hint of a crown without actually wearing one. Drawing her gloves on, blue to pull out the stones, she went down to greet her friends.

Anla looked incredible, tall and powerful in a red dress that fell to her ankles, her dark hair braided halfway down her back, then shockingly loose. Miko looked resplendent in a wide black skirt and yellow blouse, hair braided over their shoulder, but Breha noticed something -

“You shaved half of it!”

“It’s an undercut,” Miko said, lifting their hair. “The latest fashion. All the benefit of long hair but half the weight.”

“It suits you,” Breha said, admiringly. Considering she had already thrown etiquette of a proper greeting to the four winds, she hugged her friends rather than greeting them formally. “Is Bail here?"

Anla rolled her eyes. “You just had a meeting with him.”

“For work,” Breha said. “Not as friends.”

Miko squeezed Breha’s hand. “He's going to meet us at the Opera House, instead of dining with us.”

“Well,” Breha said. She didn’t want to curse him for being practical, even careful with her reputation. It was as much for his sake as it was hers. “Let’s eat, then, so we can head over there.”

 

She tried not to hurry them through their meal, but she was excited to get to the Opera House, and not just because the famous soprano Ulia Kato was singing the part of the Lighthouse keeper. The Opera House was a fabulous gem of a building, put up about three hundred years ago. The lobby was decorated with bright patterns of musical instruments, the stairs up to the mezzanine and boxes were a lush green carpet that brought Alderaan’s beautiful forests to mind. Light reflected against a thousand mirrors and crystals in the chandeliers. Queen Breha was escorted to her seat, followed by her friends. The royal box was full of flowers, and most importantly Bail was already there, dashing in a deep green tunic while pouring four flutes of Toniray. The teal wine caught the golden light of the Opera House as it bubbled up.

“You came,” she said with a smile.

“One doesn’t refuse an invitation from the Queen,” said Bail, his eyes dancing.

“Oh Anla, you’re here!” Miko teased.

“Miko! Lovely seeing you! It’s been so long, so many _hours_ ,” Anla replied, kissing Miko’s cheek dramatically.

Breha and Bail flushed.

Breha stepped aside to allow her friends entry into the box. “You two better behave yourselves,” she said over their laughter.

The four friends arranged themselves into the box, playfully tearing Breha’s dignity into shreds as they insisted she sit in the front seat because she was too short to sit behind any of them, and Anla offered to call for another cushion. After they had all settled, Breha realized she sat in front of Bail.

She could hear his breathing all through the Opera.

She could barely follow the story, instead captivated by every shift and sigh from the man behind her. All she wanted was for him to reach out and touch the back of her neck, to lean back into his touch, for him to lean over her and kiss her. Her fantasy deepened as the music swirled around her, his breath a steady metronome. She felt goosebumps rise, her cheeks flush. Breha fumbled for her fan and began trying to cool herself off.  

“Breha, are you alright?” Miko asked leaning over. Their voice tinged with concern.

Breha nodded, not wanting to bring attention to the biological fact that Bail sat behind her, turning her on by _breathing like a normal person_. “Too much Toniray,” she managed to whisper back.

After the (stunning, buoyant) performance, the four would find their own ways home. Bail insisted on escorting Breha to her speeder. In the process he touched her elbow exactly once, and she felt it burn for the remainder of the night.

Her rest was very nearly sleepless. Nights were dark on Alderaan, with only starlight filtering through lingering light pollution, and Breha tried to relieve herself of her own frustrations. Fingers and a trusty toy, accompanied by the memories of Bail (and that hypnotic breathing), guided her to some satisfaction, but she was not granted any dreams.


	4. if freckles were lovely, and day was night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slip-ups and setbacks. Is there a way for a Queen to have the consort she wants without a constitutional crisis?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to mrstater for her all her help with this chapter! 
> 
> Title from [if freckles were lovely, and day was night] by e.e. Cummings

He started the day with caf and a scroll through the social sharing platforms. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it _was_ nice to get somewhat of a pulse on what people in his district were up to, what they were talking about.

Apparently, people were talking about ...him. More specifically, his trip to the Opera last night as a guest of the Queen. _Oops_. Well, his chief of staff had warned him. But Bail had hoped that not sitting next to her, and the presence of Miko and Anla would help. That turned out not to be the case.

“ _Are things heating up between them again?"_  Someone asked. There was a thread of forty-nine responses debating this topic.

“ _They danced at the Queen’s coronation,”_ pointed out another.

 _“Who’s to say he didn’t arrive at the Palace later for a tryst?”_ speculated someone else.

 _“I’d climb him,”_ one confessed.

He closed the platform. It unsettled him when comments like that came through. He felt that he wasn’t meant to see those messages.

The worst part of it was, if given half the chance, Bail.... well. Most of them were right. He had stared at her top two vertebrae last night. The poor things looked like they hadn’t seen the sunlight since Uni. And Bail hadn’t touched them in at least that long. He used to notch his fingers in the spaces of her spine as she curled around him--

 _Goddess bless!_ All he wanted to do last night was reach out and touch her there, trail his fingers down her gray-blue dress, unbuttoning all those ridiculous little buttons, then pull her to the floor and....

Obviously in this fantasy, the Opera house was empty and no one would, or could, know. Was that what made it so appealing? Or was it the simple fact that he missed her in his arms?

She showed no sign of noticing, but Bail could hardly take his eyes off her skin in the dim light of the box, watching it break out in goosebumps as she listened to Ulia Kato’s soaring voice. He had to fight to keep his breathing steady.

“Kriff,” he whispered into his morning toast. He’d better get his act together before their late morning meeting with the other Governors. Then he was mercifully off to Juranno for a district tour. Perhaps some distance would help, as indulgence in his memories last night (and again in the shower this morning) had not.

He rolled his shoulders back and switched to reading legitimate news sources.

 

***

 

Looking back, it was almost a hilarious holo-drama, the way they'd carried on as students. Sometimes rivals, but mostly friends, Bail Antilles and Princess Breha both sat for Galactic Political Science in the same year, in the same cohort, the same classes. She went to his debate meets like they were sporting matches to cheer him on. In turn, if he heard if someone dared challenge her to a duel, he would show up to watch her (Anla was her second), but it rarely came to anything more than a few ceremonial slashes. Anything more was technically illegal.

There were whispers about the two of them. His cousin and flatmate, Raymus Antilles, warned him not to get too close to the Princess. “Remember, you can’t be an elected official and her husband, constitutionally,” as if Bail didn’t know.

Because when he and Breha fought, it was usually over those documents. Because a single kiss had opened a door, and they were both terrified to cross the threshold.

“The constitution was written over nine hundred years ago,” Bail said one night in his apartment that he shared with Raymus. Breha was over studying, dressed in white leggings and a long-sleeved tunic that fell to her knees. Miko had tired of the argument and, despite this being a group assignment for the three of them, left in frustration. “We ought to move from the letter of it to the spirit of it.”

“ _That_ is a slippery slope!” Breha said. “It’s open enough that it can adapt to today. But we can’t outright abandon it unless we want to start from scratch.”

“Why can’t we do that?”

“If you think you can, be my guest,” Breha said. “But don’t forget that I’m bound to it and can’t offer amendments. It would be overstepping my office!”

He scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. They were never going to get this assignment done. “Look, I know you’re _special_ but surely you can offer this presentation something more than that? Don’t we have to work together, Crown and Governors?”

“Yes, but we have to trust each other,” she said, adamantly.

“Trust? _Trust?_ ”

“Isn’t every good relationship built on that? Shouldn’t the citizens of Alderaan trust their branches of government?”

“Sorry, I stopped listening after you said relationship,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and swallowed. “You know, I can go home too.”

He reached out as if to grab her hand then thought better of it. “Don’t go. We drove Miko out, we should at least try and finish this thing. So _they_ can trust us again.”

She sighed. “Fine. But stop making things harder,” she insisted.

He paused. There were a million things he wanted to say to her. Instead what came out was, “Want a beer?”

“What the hell,” she said, sighing.  

He smiled and jumped up. In the kitchen, he loudly rummaged around in the refrigeration unit, moldy cheeses and fruits past their expiration date. He and Raymus really ought to do some actual shopping. He opened the bottles and grabbed a box of crackers he hoped weren’t too stale, then back out to the lounge where she scrolled through her datapad.

“Fire crackers, my favorite,” she said when he passed the box.

“Really?” he asked, settling next to her. He took a sip of his beer, then reached out for a cracker.

“Yes, I love spicy things.” She shoved a cracker into her mouth in the most unladylike motion. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure as she devoured it.

They munched for a few minutes, scrolling through constitutional commentaries, marking passages for notes. Breha opened a new document on her datapad and began typing furiously.

“What’s that?”

“A thesis statement. I sent you the file.”

He opened it and saw her typing. She had half a page written already. About trust. He skimmed as she wrote, adding a few notes here and there, other arguments, other opinions, checked her citations. It occurred to him that he ought to share the link with Miko, and by the time they entered the document, Breha had nearly reached their page limit.

“How do you write so fast?” he asked.

“What, you never had to write a speech about youth and progress for the opening of a new school an hour before the ribbon cutting?”

He chuckled. “Can’t say that I have.” He took another swig of his beer. Leaning back, he started reading again, more slowly this time. Miko made changes, editing sections about how the people of Alderaan were citizens, not subjects, claiming the introduction as their own. Bail took the middle, leaving the conclusion to Princess Breha. She earned it.

“Did you always want to do political science?” he asked when her typing ceased.

She collapsed against the couch, nursing her beer. “I don’t know. I guess it seemed like the wisest course of action.”

“What if you didn’t have to do it?” he asked.

“What, prepare for my mother’s throne?” she clarified.

He nodded, watching her face.

“It hardly bears thinking about,” she said.

She tried to shut him down, but he could tell she had given it some thought. “Come on, you can _trust_ me. We’re friends!”

She exhaled. “Is that what we are?”

He was halfway through asking her what she meant when she set her bottle aside.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she said. “Because even though you are going to run for office someday, and I am going to be Queen someday, neither of us are those things yet.”

“I’m still an Antilles,” he said, leaning into her.

She didn’t say _I don’t care_ , but somehow he heard it anyway as her soft lips pressed to his. They tasted of the cheap beer he’d pulled out of the fridge. Her mouth was warm, as was the hand that wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him even closer.

This was even better than their single kiss at the Cloudshape Falls. For one thing, he'd showered this morning. For another, neither of them were in a rush.

Her hands trailed down and tugged on his shirt, not pulling it off just yet. He swept his hands from her shoulders to her waist, and she curled even closer.

For so long, being around her had been like throwing himself at a brick wall, not because she was cold (oh she was so warm in his arms) but because neither of them felt like they could act on this.

He pulled back a little, suddenly aware that somehow she was underneath him on his couch, her datapad awkwardly pressed against her shoulder. He reached up and gently pulled it out from under her.

“Thank you,” she said.

He slid it under the couch, and then resumed kissing, kissing, kissing. They were so warm and good together.  

She reached her hands under his shirt and he let her peel it off of him. The rest of their clothing didn’t last much longer. This felt so frantic suddenly, so very nice and wonderful and, well, hot. He pulled back again.

“This isn’t in the constitution,” he teased, nuzzling her neck.

“No,” she agreed with a chuckle.

He slid a hand to her breast, toying with an erect nipple. She arched into his touch with a whimper.

“But, if you are very, very lucky....” she trailed off breathlessly.

“If I am very, very lucky?” His hand traced a path down her ribs, to her waist, to just below her hips, then over. He knelt back and watched her head drop back as his hand ghosted over her vulva.

She swallowed. “If you are very ...good... it’ll make my diary, and someday that will be part of my official papers.”

He choked out a laugh and gently teased his way to her clit, touching and savoring her very vocal reactions.

“Let’s write this together,” he whispered, bending down to kiss her kneecap. She trembled with anticipation, and his fingertips felt a little more wet. “What should it say?”

“Slow,” she managed to grind out. “And then, very fast.” She lifted her head to look him the eyes. She was so serious, even now.

Bail kissed her lips again, his hand working against her center, and finally she wrapped her legs around him.

“Protection,” he managed.

“My bag,” she replied.

He got up again and pulled her bag closer. One handed, she rummaged around inside and pulled a dura-latex package out. She opened it carefully, tested it on her fingers, then rolled it on. Her hands were warm and sure over his erection, and he suddenly felt very close. He closed his eyes and thought of how cool it was at the Falls, surrounded by the spray of cold mountain water.

“Alright?” Breha asked, drawing him back to the present.

“Never better,” he said.

She pushed him down on the couch and positioned herself, guided him into her. She hummed with pleasure and leaned back down into his arms. Young and eager, they were both as she demanded - fast. It was a little awkward with their edges crashing against each other, repeatedly running up against the back of the couch. He was embarrassed that he didn’t last as long as she did. And he probably shouldn’t have had sex with the _Dauphine_ on his _couch_. Shouldn’t they have gotten a flashy hotel room -- rose petals and Toniray, instead of beer and fire crackers? But as he reached down to help her finish, he couldn’t have cared less. What was uni for if it wasn’t making colossally stupid mistakes about sex? This would be quite the scandal when her diaries were finally made public, but they would both be dead by then.

“I’d like to amend our earlier entry,” she said against his shoulder, after she had collapsed into the cushions.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Slow, then very fast, and then again.” She looked up at him through her dark lashes, her cheeks flushed.

“We can tell everyone we pulled an all-nighter if they ask tomorrow.”

She laughed and kissed his pulsepoint.

 

***

 

A few more minutes remained of her meeting with the Governors before their district breaks, and miraculously, they'd already covered everything on the agenda. She had spent most of the meeting trying not to look at Governor Antilles, but he'd had a few items on the agenda so some glances had happened. He looked so cool and collected, as if last night’s Opera hadn’t had any effect on him. But then, why would it? Even if the gossip columnists _were_ having a field day.

“Will that be all, Governors?”

“I believe so, your Grace,” said Governor Kir. “If you will excuse me, my district awaits.”

Breha smiled at them all as they stood and made bows to her. Their eagerness to get back home was palpable as they made their goodbyes.

Governor Chur remained behind, looking a little too formal as he stood in front of her, his posture exceedingly correct.

“Was there something else, Governor Chur?” Breha asked.

“If I might be so bold,” he said carefully, “may I speak frankly?”

“Of course,” she replied, heart leaping to her throat for a reason she couldn’t quite name. A thrill of dread. What couldn't he say in front of the others?

“May I ask about the nature of your relationship with Governor Antilles?”

Breha stood up to her full height. “He is my friend, has been since University.”

“Forgive me, your Grace, but the nature of your friendship has been reportedly... rather more."

“Yes, and the gossip holos also publish stories on how Master Wismew Masa is still alive, though she’d be about six hundred by now.”

“Madam, I hope you see that whatever the nature of your ...friendship with Governor Antilles, he is still an _Antilles_ , a powerful family, one that has often sought more political clout. They have a reputation.”

“The Antilles family has never been anything but kind to me.” Breha could feel her normally friendly bearing grow colder with each word. The man was sweating, but he carried on.

“And there are some who would use that friendship to influence you. You may be young, but you cannot be naive to this. If nothing else, you must show Alderaan that they can _trust_ you, even in the company of powerful political families.”

He was right, and she had never hated her First Governor more for it.

“I’m sorry, your Grace. I have served your mother for so long, I know her words to you would have, perhaps, been phrased better, but they still needed to be said.

“You’ve given me much to think about during the break,” Breha said, sitting back down and picking up her tablet. “But you’ve a long journey ahead of you,” she said. “I hope you can still make good time to your home.”

Chur sensed the dismissal. Making a final bow, he wished her well and was on his way.

Breha leaned back as the door closed behind him. She didn’t really want to think about what Anim Chur had to say, even if he did have the monarchy’s best interests at heart. She picked up her comm and called her sister.

“Hello?”

“Are you busy?” Breha asked, toying with the stone on her desk. She’d taken it out of her Keepsake Chest. It looked good against the heavy leather top of the overly large desk.

“Never too busy for you,” Deara said. Breha could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much, just wanted to let you know how bored I’ll be over the district break.”

“Yeah, especially with Bail out of town.”

“Not you too! I just got a lecture about how we’re too close.”

“Let me guess, from Chur? That old goat is such a busy body. Listen to me. You’re Queen. You and Bail will find a compromise. Everyone loves a good old-fashioned star-crossed lovers romance.”

“Next time I get a lecture, I’ll send him to you.”

“I’ll set him straight,” Deara promised.

Breha laughed. The pair talked a little longer, mostly about Deara’s semester, before Breha let her go. She felt better for calling, especially since Deara promised to come home after the semester ended.


	5. —and furiously puzzling through,prismatic,whims,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate for distance from her predicaments, Breha starts making changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a million to mrstater for her eagle eye on this! 
> 
> Title from [when i have thought of you somewhat too] by, of course, e.e. cummings. 
> 
> Do people still leave notes for their readers in these? Eh, I'm going for it. How about that Han Solo trailer? Oh dear, you seem to have fallen asleep. Yeah, my hopes aren't high either. Donald Glover's going to be exceptional, though.

The calendar new year was the fresh start Breha felt she needed. The mental re-calibration of having new resolutions and goals always felt good.

One thing remained constant, however; she had her favorite sparring partner in Anla Ran. They met every week to face off against each other, a ritual that Breha felt like she couldn’t ever break unless the other was out of Aldra.

Mostly Anla came to the palace to spar, as Breha had a gymnasium and a personal armory of swords that her family had amassed over generations of producing great fencers. Usually Anla brought her own practice foils she liked to use, but when Breha opened the doors to the locked unit, it was hard to resist the call of the Wismew Masa rapiers.

No blacksmith had ever matched the perfection that Masa created six hundred years ago. Breha loved the balance of them, and with the pair in Anla’s hands, their sparring felt akin to the poetry that came out of Anla’s stylus.

And so the swords were already out when Anla arrived.

“I should've known.”

“What?” Breha said innocently as she stretched.

“You only want to spar with those when you’re upset about something.”

Breha frowned. “Not true. We sparred with them after the coronation.”

“Fine,” Anla ammended. “When you’re unsettled about something.” She dropped into a stretch herself, pointing and flexing her feet, then leaning over her legs to stretch her hamstrings.

Breha rolled her head back and stretched her neck. “Or it’s been awhile,” she tried.

“Look, I’m sorry you got some heat for inviting Bail to the Opera. But that was weeks ago, you have to push past it.”

The first few months of her reign had been a little wobbly, but she was falling into the rhythm of it now. Mostly she had resolved not to ever be alone with him, and not to see him socially if she could help it. Luckily Anla and Miko were wonderful company, but they all missed their fourth.

“I wish I could. But he came back from the break and we’ve been as friendly as ever. Chur is irritated, even if he won’t say it. And I think Kir is starting to get annoyed too.”

“Politics,” Anla said, standing and flapping her arms around like a wild bird to warm her blood. “Look, you’re following their rules, being a good little queen. You don’t invite him anywhere fun anymore, just meetings. But forbidden love is the sweetest. So they’re going about this the wrong way.”

“Yes, I know you’ve read the classic literary canon.”

“And personal experience,” Anla said, testing the Masa sword in her grip. She winked roguishly at Breha.

Breha drew herself up and reached for the other rapier and her mask. Anla put hers on, and after a few last minute comments about forms and stances, they took their marks.

Their first duel went for fifteen minutes with Breha inching out a victory, the second only ten with Anla dominating.  

“A third, your Grace? To break the tie?” teased Anla.

“I don’t think so.” She pulled off her mask. “Sorry, I’m finding it hard to focus today.”

Anla slung an arm over her friend’s shoulders. “Look, Queenie, you’ll figure this out, and you’ll twist it to a victory. I’ve known you long enough to know you can draw out enough of a fight to win. Just keep your focus.”

“Let’s talk about anything else. How’s the new volume going?”

“Rotten. But it’s because I haven’t had enough time from the last one yet. Soon I’ll give up, get drunk, and do something incredibly stupid that will knock me off my own pedestal so I can recalibrate.”

Breha laughed. “That sounds amazing.”

“Nothing like hitting the bottom of your spiral,” Anla replied.

 

***

  


Nothing stays the same for long, a lesson that Breha learned all the time. Though she was supposed to have a stabilizing effect on Alderaan’s culture and politics, life didn’t usually work that way. Everything ebbed and flowed, including her own staff.

Daska Mantisa, the Queen’s secretary, was stepping down for a well earned retirement. Daska had served for ages, since Breha herself was a child. Ms. Daska, as Breha had called her, always made sure that, barring emergencies, Bara could see her daughters for meals, for playtime, for outings, and that the small princesses could have an audience with their mother whenever they needed, slipping them around meetings and ceremonies.

“Your Grace, if you select a new secretary, I can train them in before I leave,” Daska said. “As you see, I’m giving you ten months notice.”

“Thank you,” Breha said. “And congratulations. May I ask what your plans are?”

A quick smile flashed onto Daska’s face. “My wife and I have always wanted to travel. Not that we haven’t been many lovely places with the Royal Family.”

Breha fluttered her hand. “I quite understand. Traveling for work is not quite the same as for pleasure.”

“Indeed, ma’am.”

“Do you have anyone in mind for the post?” Breha asked, returning to the subject.

“I can draw up a list of potential candidates,” Daska said. “If you give me a few days.”

“Of course,” Breha said. “We’ll interview them together. I’m relying on your expertise here, but I hope we find someone as lovely and as perfect as you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s kind of you to say. I regret leaving you so early in your reign.”

“Not at all, Daska. You have served the Crown for long enough. I am excited for your lovely adventures with Varalas. Do keep in touch, when you leave. I hope you know how fondly Deara and I think of you.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Now,” she checked her wrist chrono, “Your first appointment will be here in twenty minutes, all the notes should be in your datapad. Shall I leave you to prepare?”

“Thank you. I’ll have to muster an interest in agriculture this morning.”

“Indeed, ma’am. Good luck.”

By the time the meeting had ended, Daska had a description ready for Breha’s approval, which she suggested just a few changes to. And then the job posted. Candidates poured in over two weeks, from the best families, from all the Universities, from other peoples’ staffs. It was overwhelming to sort through. Especially after everything else that Breha had to deal with, the day-to-day meetings and optics and statements.

And more recently, a groundquake had struck the forest region of Triosa - so many of the gorgeous conifers had been felled, and Breha knew that they would dry out, running the risk of forest fires. Governor Sera Lahr was already back in her district, trying to mitigate the disaster. Breha and the rest of the governors supported her from afar, temporarily halting other logging unions to prevent a market crash that could be far-reaching. Breha increased layoff pay and encouraged cultural and artistic programs for this imposed sabbatical.  

But there were still all these candidates, when these people needed her help so desperately.

“What will I do when you’re gone?” Breha asked Daska, scrolling through candidates.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace. We’ll find someone perfect for you,” Daska said in her calm, measured tones.

Calm and measured, that should have been in the description.  

It seemed that every meeting she went to, every appearance she made, someone chatted about so and so and how they had applied for the position, and they would be _just perfect_. Breha wanted it to be over with.

The biggest surprise of all was when Rouge Antilles applied for the post, and then Bail, to Breha’s horror, asked her about Rouge’s candidacy after their next Governors’ meeting.

“She’d be great,” he insisted. It was very unlike him to push her on something approaching nepotism, and to fight his sister’s battles for her.

“I know she would be great, that’s not the issue,” Breha said, hoping he would stop this conversation, hoping to stop him. Rouge had studied management at University, was from a politically powerful family. Her qualifications were not in question.

“You won’t even give her an interview.”

“No, I won’t.” She forced herself to watch his expression very closely. He grew red in the face, out of frustration.

“But you’ve earned some traction, some trust with the other families, surely.”

“My mind is made up on this matter, Governor Antilles,” she said as formally as she could.

“Why won’t you consider her?” He ran his hands through his hair, something he tended to do in desperation. The last time she watched him do that, they were studying for finals.

 _Would these little intimacies ever run out? How well she knew him, how well she noticed him_. And this cracked her. Feeling her hand was forced, she laid out her cards, a little harshly it had to be said.

“Because, if I can only have one Antilles family member close to me, I don’t want it to be your sister!” Her cheeks flushed with heat at this admission.

“Still?” He winced as he said this word, knowing it would hurt her. Damn him.

“What do you mean still? Of kriffing _course_! Still!” She stood up, if just to feel a little bigger. Like staring down a wolf-cat, you had to make yourself look as large as possible.

Silence fell, and when Bail spoke his voice was so quiet. “But you hide it so well.”

She laughed derisively. “It’s in every gossip-holo in every market. We’re only fooling ourselves.”

He fell silent again. Breha could see his throat apple bob as he swallowed, hard.

“Or maybe I’m fooling myself,” Breha said quietly. “Maybe you don’t love me anymore. That’s probably... wise.”

“Your Grace...”

She held up her hand. Protocol took over and he fell silent. “Don’t. Stop, please. I can’t hear anymore.”  She turned away from him, gazing out the window at the mountains behind her office. “Why don’t you go assist Governor Lahr with the cleanup in her district?”

She heard him sigh. “If that’s what you wish.” He walked to the door and exited, neither of them daring to look at the other.

Breha sat at her desk again, feeling so heavy and tired of being pulled between her planet and her heart. So stupid, so selfish. Even focusing on the candidate search while Triosa was an increasing tinderbox felt selfish. Every choice before her regarding Bail was a selfish one. Perhaps a little distance might make things more clear for her.

She laid her head down on the desk, pressing her cheek against the cool leather top, feeling it cushion the weight of her head, and in no small way, the weight of Alderaan itself. She tried to convince herself that maybe Chur was right, that Bail was trying to use their friendship to get his sister a job, but she knew better. Rouge would be good in the position. They had a rapport, her organizational skills were unmatched, communication skills unparalleled, and she was discreet.

But she couldn’t let Bail go, and she couldn’t have both.

 

***

 

Weeks went by, filled with interviews and meetings and Breha staring at the news sources.  It turned out that Bail was very, very good at disaster relief.  All the reporters tripped over themselves to get stories out of the handsome Governor Antilles and his work alongside Governor Lahr. They made a good team.

But handsome Bail, with his dark hair, bright eyes, and broad shoulders made for quite good optics in the evening broadcasts. He kissed all the babies, hugged all the grandparents. He was filmed serving food in shelters, tucking kids into bed with stories. He helped rebuild houses, restored water and electricity.  He smoothed things between departments to help Lahr’s outreach.  

And images of him chopping up the fallen trees in the forests went viral; the ax made him look rugged, the sweat on his brow appealed to something primal in people. And he wasn’t wearing a shirt, his muscles rippled with the action of chopping. Anla had messaged Breha with a series of exclamation points, which was hilariously out of character, Anla preferred people who presented femme. Even off-planet news sources were picking up on this handsome, productive, and genuinely kind person.

(About time, too, Breha couldn’t help but think.)

They were careful to conduct co-briefings to Breha and the other governors, Lahr leading the agenda. Bail answered questions when asked, but never contributed much more than was strictly necessary.  When she thanked him for opening another shelter for the people, he brushed off Breha’s compliment.

“I’m happy to serve.”

The comment felt so cold. Governor Chur’s lips quirked, and Breha wrapped up the meeting.

After the grueling day, which continued long after the Governors’ meeting, Breha walked listlessly through her apartment rooms, making tea in the tiny kitchenette, lying on the couch with music blaring, finally wandering into her bedroom.

She went to the bed and from underneath the massive thing, she pulled out a large, shallow box. Upon opening it, there were a series of beautifully bound diaries, each one a different lovely jeweltone.

Not many people kept diaries by hand anymore, but Bara had thought it was an important habit to pass on to her daughters. Deara had turned hers into sketchbooks, but Breha dutifully kept a record of her days, as she had been told it was important for future generations. She still kept a diary, the pattern of it had become ingrained.  Her fingers ghosted over covers that hid a progression from a childish hand to an adult one, cursive becoming tidier, more practiced.  

Her hand hovered over the spine of the university years, and with a swallow, she plucked it from the box, closed it, and shoved it back under the bed.  

Crawling under the covers, Breha flipped past descriptions of classes and assignments, dueling club and Anla, that camping trip, memorable moments stolen in Bail’s apartment, to the tipping point.

Reading her own words, the shame returned. Rumors had become too much for her mother to ignore, so after a very severe dressing down about trust, duty, and service, Breha was all but banished --

There had been a gravitational “wobble”, a solar flare causing a tidal wave that had affected the tight-knit island community of Aplaarora. Bara thought the break from Aldra, and from Bail, would help the young princess recalibrate.

“You leave in the morning," she'd said. "Your bags are already packed. You’re to meet with Mayor Strax and fulfill whatever role they have for you, serving food or hauling supplies, sandbagging, whatever she wants.

“Mother, I have exams! And a life here!”

Bara’s eyes had flashed dangerously. “You exams will have to be rescheduled. I’m sure if you contact your professors, they will understand. If they do not, you will have to make up the classes next semester.”

“And risk falling behind?!”

Bara shook her head. “I thought I raised you to think of others first. Even if these romantic rumors are unfounded, it’s clear to me that you need to regain your focus and your balance. Your people need you, Princess Breha. And you will do as they need.”

Breha had dispatched the necessary messages to her professors. All agreed to hold her finals for her return sometime over the break. That caused Breha to flutter with guilt; they were dazzled by her status, she was sure of it. She also messaged Miko and Anla. She trusted them to tell Bail, but really, they could find out where she was by checking the news sources.

Breha cried into her pillow that night, guilt at her selfishness ate at her. Torn between herself and who she was supposed to be. Around two am, she still hadn’t found sleep, but Deara crawled into bed with her sister.

“Don’t you know, I’m the one who’s supposed to have ill-advised love affairs?” she said sleepily, cuddling up to her older sister.

Breha thought about her humble wants for her own life, the alternate universe where she wasn’t the _dauphine_ , a life teaching, and a life with Bail that was not a political crisis. But mother was right to send her away, she clearly had much to learn.

That night, Breha hoped that her mistakes, these lessons, would keep Deara from this kind of pain.

 

***

 

A few days later, Anla canceled their weekly sparring practice. “I’m caught in a pattern, the words are coming out and I can’t focus on anything else!” Breha absolved her friend of guilt. Muses were fleeting things, she knew that from her sister.  

In Anla’s wisdom, she sent Miko in her stead, with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. Breha had laughed when she saw them.

“You know we can probably scare up a few spoons in Aldra Palace.”

“No doubt about that,” Miko’s dark eyes flashed with humor. “But it seemed more like University this way.”

The two tucked themselves in Breha’s apartments and lounged on the sofas, passing the chocolate goodness between them. Miko needed the break as much as Breha did -- they had started law school, additional studies for the next four years, focusing in constitutional law. Breha wouldn’t be able to see much of her friend in the coming months. They chatted about current events, the constitution, and lighter topics like the newest pop songs and a graphic novel Miko was finding time to read.

“I think this banishment will be good for you and for Bail,” Miko said at one point.

Breha started to sputter an answer, that this wasn’t a banishment, but Miko held up their hand. “Let me finish please.”

Breha took another spoonful of cream and nodded for her friend to continue.

“You need to focus on something. Your reign has been steadying, which is good. As you know, I’m something of an expert in the history of our constitutional monarchy.”

“Am I allowed to talk yet?”

“Nope. One consistent thread that has made our Queens great ones is that they pick a project. Yes, they meet with the Governors and do all the things you’re doing. But you’re not ruling. You need a lightning rod for all this energy.” They scooped out some more cream. “Your turn to talk.”

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Breha admitted. She spooned another bite of cream and let her mind wander back to University. Bail had asked her several times what she would want to do if she wasn’t the _dauphine_ , and finally, Breha had told him she’d like to be a teacher. Mainly she wanted to teach swordplay, but education was such an honorable calling no matter the subject.

“You should think very seriously about it,” Miko said. “Figure it out while Bail is gone, get the wheels turning. When he returns, you’ll have something of your own to focus on.”  

“Thank the goddess I have you to guide me,” Breha teased. “Where were you when I was a princess?”

Miko stuck their tongue at her. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right.”


	6. people contented hideous hopeless cruel happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The changes have unexpected consequences that lead Breha and Bail to be hopeful about their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, mrstater has been an absolute all-star beta reader while I have been very distracted by the Olympics. Thank you!!! Any mistakes are mine alone. 
> 
> The title comes from [the hours rise up putting off stars and it is] by e.e. cummings

She and Daska hired a young woman named Kista Wyrren who was cool, competent, and seemed to like spicy foods as much as Breha did. Every day she took on more and more duties from Daska. Her first test would be to accompany Breha on a trip to Triosa. 

They wouldn't be going alone. Three days before the trip up north to the forests, Viceroy Elara Jor announced that she had spoken to the Supreme Chancellor about the clean-up in Triosa. Even the Galactic Senate had seen the images of Bail Organa chopping up fallen trees, and apparently the Jedi Council saw this crisis as a teaching opportunity and were sending a Master Jedi and his Padawan to her.

No Jedi had ever come to Alderaan, at least not in recorded history, so the Queen and the government weren’t quite sure what to expect from Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi.  Breha met them on the landing pad nearest Aldra palace, which she granted authorization to their ship,  _ Radiant VII,  _ to use. It was an interchangeable Republic cruiser, but Breha rather liked the name. What would these Jedi be like? she wondered as she waited at the edge of the landing pad. 

The ramp lowered and two human men descended to touch Alderaan soil for the first time. The older had greying brown hair that fell past his shoulders, the top half of which was caught in a braid behind his head. His piercing blue eyes caught Breha, and he approached her with a purposeful stride. At his elbow was a handsome youth, perhaps in his late teens, light brown hair, and blue of eye. His haircut was more structured, buzzed short except for a long braid - a padawan braid, her research taught her. The braid was punctuated with a single blue silka bead that matched his eyes and indicated his lightsaber color. 

They bowed, and she said “Welcome to Alderaan, Master Jedi.”

“I am Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Your Highness,” said the young man.  

“And I am Queen Breha,” she said. Obi-Wan’s eyebrow shot up, and Qui-Gon’s forehead wrinkled.

“Dare I ask about your retinue? Or security?” he said.

Breha shrugged. “It is not customarily necessary for anyone on this planet to require any security details. And my secretaries wanted to meet you, but they were finalizing our trip North tomorrow. I was getting in their way.”  

She turned to lead them back to the palace. The crew of the  _ Radiant VII _ would cool down the ship, the palace mechanics would be along to help them store it and put them up for the time being. 

“May I offer you refreshments, perhaps rest after your long journey?”

“Both would be welcome, your Highness,” Qui-Gon.

Breha waved her hand. “Here I am addressed as ‘Your Grace’ or Ma’am. Ma’am will do more readily, however. I am a Queen of a constitutional monarchy, my role is largely ceremonial,” she explained. “The people of Alderaan are citizens, not subjects. I am largely their servant, not the other way around.”

She turned and led them up the path to the Palace. There was security along this route, all but invisible. Mostly, there would be a guard to open the door for them, and then inside, a butler to take the Jedi to their chambers. 

“Are you an elected Queen, then?” young Obi-Wan asked. 

“An astute question, but no. On Alderaan, there is a matriarchal primogeniture line that I was born to. However, it is customary for the Monarch to take on a more formal position, a minister of something or other, to take some of the load off of the regional governors.”

“And what role have you decided to take on, Ma’am?” asked Qui-Gon.

They stepped inside when the Guard opened the door.  “I have been thinking about it. I’m not ready to make any announcements, and in fact, I may want to ask you a few questions about your ...experiences in the path I am contemplating.”

“We are here to learn from you,” Qui-Gon reminded her.

Breha smiled. “There’s no reason this cannot be mutually beneficial,” she said. “Now, my attendant Mx. Aeris will take you to your chambers to freshen up, and I’ll see you at lunch.”

They ate together with Daska, Kista, and a few other staff that who would accompany them to Triosa. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan asked so many questions that after lunch, she directed them to the library and gave them the run of the place while she finalized her work, tying up as many loose ends as she could before the journey. 

It was a long night of little sleep for Breha that night, excited and nervous about seeing Bail the next day, for the first time in weeks.  

The journey to Triosa lasted a few hours and afforded Breha the opportunity to grill the Jedi and his apprentice about life in the Jedi Temple, about their apprenticeships, about other mentor relationships a Jedi could have, given that they were discouraged from forming attachments. Breha, perhaps because of her lack of height, perhaps because of her bright eyes and open smile, had a knack for getting people to talk without them feeling interrogated. 

Qui-Gon gave her glances, knowing full well what she was up to, but was willing to indulge her. She filed their experiences away in her mind, wondering if they could be used to enhance aspects of Alderaan’s education, their cultural outreach centers, their job training programs. 

Before long, they were there, and Breha slipped on the mental mask she often wore as Queen. She had dressed in dark gray trousers, and a grayish-green tunic that fell to mid-thigh. It belted with a heavy black belt that had compartments for some survival gear, in case she got separated from her party, however unlikely. She had insisted all of her staff wear them.  Her hair was up and braided in a crown, but she skipped the ribbons, they would have been too out of place on this trip. They’d be camping in the refugee camp, eating their food, drinking their water, sleeping in the exact same style of tents. It was the only way she could think of to ensure her people were being well cared for. The camp was slowly being emptied as people were able to go home as they were being rebuilt, as the risk of fire diminished. But there were still plenty of people that would be sharing spaces for at least a few more weeks. 

The Jedi kept to the role of silent observes as Breha met with local officials and organizers. She saw Lahr first. Bail joined them, and she managed to keep her Queenly mask in place. 

They toured around, meeting people, seeing new structures, acres of cleared forests, a little more each day. Breha had made sure some of the logging had stopped in other areas of Alderaan, hoping the lumberjacks there wouldn’t be too furious. But as she traveled around the camps, she actually met these folks she had reluctantly laid off for a season. They had come to help take out trees, since they couldn’t take their own lumber. 

“We wanted to help,” one union leader told her when she shook his hand.  

“It’s the Alderaan way,” Breha nodded. “You are a credit to your union, and to our planet.  _ Thank _ you,” she said. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I miss the husband and the kids, but...” he shrugged. “You do what you can.”

She smiled at him, thanked him again, and then asked about his children. He lit up, and Breha had trouble moving on to her next visit. She didn’t mind. 

The days passed quickly, she visited everything she could think of; cafeterias, refresher facilities, medbays, makeshift schools. She saw rubble, cleared land, and new buildings. She held people while they sobbed their hearts out, tried to comfort them. She played with kids, talked to their parents about pressing concerns. Sleeping in a tent on the hard ground was not something Breha complained about. It wasn’t fun, but it was temporary. And she was making sure it was temporary for the people of Triosa. 

The Jedi were an unexpected balm to people, something in how they walked so lightly, helping where they could, listening and talking softly. Obi-Wan seemed to have a particular fanclub that followed him about and tugged on his robe experimentally. Qui-Gon stacked firewood with the wave of his hand. 

Holonet reporters followed the young queen around; Breha did her best to ignore them. 

The last night, she opened an unexpected treat for the people of Triosa, and for the Queen. Governors Lahr and Organa led their party through a small corner of trees that still stood tall to a new building that they had conveniently left out of their reports. A large and beautiful wooden structure, built with traditional tight logs and large modern windows, commanded a storybook glen. Through the crowd of people of all ages, a path cut through to a silver ribbon tied in a bow over the door.

Governor Lahr said, “Welcome to the Triosa School of Swordplay.”

Breha’s jaw dropped. 

“It’s a new cultural center -- Governor Organa’s idea,” Lahr continued.

Breha looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since she sent him away. “I... don’t know how to thank you for this surprise, Governor.”

He bowed. “You could cut the ribbon?” Bail suggested. 

“With pleasure,” she said, and the party made their way forward with cheers.  When they reached the front, Breha was presented with a razor sharp sword that she used to slice through the ribbons. 

The doors opened just then, and Breha was ushered through large practice rooms all with retractable walls to turn the entire space into a great hall.  

“Any chance you’ll teach the first class?” Bail asked her. “We only have wooden practice swords at the moment. The center hopes to get proper practice foils soon.” 

Breha put her hand on her hip and smiled at him, a real smile that stretched from ear to ear. He had built this for her. He knew of her love of swordplay and her blossoming interest in education, her commitment to keep the traditional arts and culture of Alderaan strong for her people. This was a gift, and perhaps, the best gift she’d ever received. It was like standing inside of her Keepsake Chest. 

“By all means,” she said, pulling off her heavy gray jacket.  “I’ll teach a warm up.” She turned to her Jedi observers. “After the lesson, would you be so kind as to demonstrate some Jedi Forms?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes lit up and Qui-Gon spoke for the both of them. “We would be honored.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Thank you.”

In no time, the Hall was filled to the brim of people. There was so much interest that Bail rigged up a vidstream to the people who couldn’t fit in the Center. Everyone inside was lent a practice sword and standing as Breha directed, feet shoulder length apart, knees slightly bent. 

“Now, as you are able, slowly stretch your arms up to the sky,” Breha led them all through gentle stretches, waking up muscles that would be called on for their opening variations. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon even walked through the crowd, quietly offering corrections and modifications for those who were differently abled. She wished for Anla, they’d have to come back someday. 

She then showed them the correct way to grip the hilt, first with one hand (and made them try with their non-dominant hand), then with two hands. Breha led them through some basic attacks, parries, and blocks, just enough to get everyone’s blood flowing and test some limits, but nothing too difficult or flashy. For that, she turned to the Jedi. 

There was a thrill of excitement as everyone returned their wooden practice swords. Qui-Gon set a safe distance from the front of the room where he and Obi-Wan would be sparring, and everyone got as close as they dared.  Breha gave them the floor and watched from the back of the hall with her staff. 

They were good, there was no doubt about it, well matched and full of energy. It was exciting to watch two masters--well, one master and one well on his way--cross blades. But Breha couldn’t help but notice when Bail slipped out the back door. Breha counted to a hundred and followed, hoping people would be distracted enough by the lightsabers to not care where their Queen was.

The sun had set and she found Bail at the treeline, looking up at the stars. 

“Thank you,” Breha said quietly. She kept a distance from him, though the urge to touch him just now was overwhelming. She leaned against a tree and cast her gaze heavenward. 

“You weren’t fooling yourself,” Bail said. 

It took her a second to process what he meant. Their tiff in her office before she sent him here was something she tried to block. But she hadn’t really given him a chance to respond when she dropped her feelings on him. This was all outside any sort of protocol.  _ Selfish _ she thought. She pushed it away. If this was them being selfish, maybe it was fine. If it fed their egos and their love to help their people together, then who was really hurt by this? How could love like this be bad? 

“The Center gave it away. It’s beautiful. You’re...” she trailed off. She wanted to step into his arms but didn’t dare. 

“I cannot bear this anymore,” he said. Breha felt him shift towards her, and she dropped her gaze to his face. In the low starlight, she could see the intensity of his eyes, hell his whole body, as he focused solely on her. She was caught in his orbit. 

“What can’t you bear?” she whispered, leaning a little closer into his force of gravity against her better judgement. 

“I’m stepping down from my Governor position. I’m running for Viceroy, and if I lose, I’ll do whatever you want me to. I’m good at disaster relief, no? Maybe I can do that. I’ll go build fencing schools in every corner of Alderaan if you want them.”

Her eyes fell closed, her mouth opened into a slow smile at his words.

She felt his hands at her elbows, warm and steady, like always. “I want to court you openly. I want to be the Antilles at your side. I can serve you just as well as a consort as I can as Governor, maybe even better.”

She couldn’t open her eyes. She was dreaming, surely. This only happened in her dreams. 

He leaned down and whispered “Breha,” into her ear. A shiver raced up her spine. 

“Yes,” she said. She didn’t think about an upcoming election against Elara Jor, a well respected Senator both on Alderaan and in the inner rim planets. She didn’t think about who might become governor of Juranno. Instead she opened her eyes to look at Bail. Love softened the edges of her vision and she sealed his promise with a kiss. 

There was a rush of noise when her lips met his. It was a brief kiss, hurried even, as she realized the cheering was the crowd inside the Center. The Jedi must be done with their demonstration, or nearly. 

She and Bail stepped back from each other.

“To be continued,” Breha said, turning on her heel. She hurried back to the Center, trying to get her Queen face back on. It wouldn’t do to be too happy. Bail no doubt would busy himself with something outside. Daska would probably suspect something, but Breha hoped everyone else would be fooled. 

She slid inside just as the Jedi bowed to each other a final time. Breha cheered with the rest of the crowd, elation catching up with her.


	7. set my teeth in the silver of the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans become solidified, and Breha’s hopeful about both outcomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a million to mrstater, she's one of the Greats. 
> 
> Chapter title is from [i will wade out] by e.e. cummings.

Governors Lahr and Antilles stayed in Triosa until every displaced person had been rehoused. During the three months, Breha tried not to be distracted by his absence. She kept busy, making all kinds of public appearances, working with Daska, even visiting her sister once at school.

“You’ve cut your hair short,” Breha said upon seeing Deara for the first time in months.

“Don’t be mad,” Deara said, reaching up to touch the ends self-consciously. “It gets in the way of my sculpting.”

Breha smiled. “I love it, actually. You’ve really made a home here.”

Though it was a visible rejection of any kind of tradition, Breha didn’t mind. Deara was strong enough to buck convention.  Which reminded Breha that she had to make sure Deara was never in danger of inheriting a crown she didn’t want. This unspoken promise was wrapped in her wants for Bail. She allowed herself to dream of what their children might look like over a long cup of blue tea.

But before he came back to the capitol, she was in a hurry to set herself up as the Minister of Education. She tasked Miko with helping her, but after a few weeks, they begged off duties.

“I can’t help you any longer, Breha,” they said, after a particularly fruitful brainstorming session.

Breha shook her head, “I’m... sorry?”

Miko smiled, putting away their datapad. “It’s nothing personal, and I suspect you may forgive me, in the long run.”

“Of course I’ll forgive you, Miko, only will you tell me what this is about?”

“Nope, and I’m leaving before I say something I shouldn’t,” they said, standing. Miko never could keep a secret.

“Fine, I’ll ask Anla.”

“What makes you think she knows?” Miko said teasingly. They sketched a joking bow at her. “Take care, _your Grace_.”

She stuck her tongue out at them. “Fine, see you never.”

They reached the door, but turned around to laugh, “Well, hopefully sooner than _that_!”

She found out why Miko was being so cagey as soon as Bail returned to Aldra. His first stop was Aldra Palace. Breha tried not to be too eager or flattered, but he was in a hurry.

“This is my formal resignation,” he said, without any ceremony, just as soon as her office door closed behind him. He stayed across the room, not daring a step closer.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to his usual chair,

“I can’t. There’s a lot to do, including my announcement in an hour. I hired Miko to run my campaign, they said they had to abandon you in the middle of a project?”

She smiled. “I’ve decided to style myself as Minister of Education.”  

His own face blossomed into a grin. “You’ll be perfect.”

“Thank you,” Breha said. “Now, you’d better go if you have an announcement in an hour.”

His smile slipped. “Yes. Um.” Bail ran his hands through his hair. “See you after the campaign?” He turned to the door, but Breha wasn’t quite done.

“Wait,” she said quietly, jumping up and rushing over to him.

“Breha,” he whispered, a little desperately at her sudden nearness.

“I can’t pick favorites,” she admitted. She leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. “For luck.”

“For luck,” he repeated, staring into her eyes as if memorizing their shades of brown.

She stepped back as he opened the door and rushed out of her presence for what would be the better part of a year. Breha turned on her heel and went back to her desk. As she waited for his announcement over the holonet, she did her best to craft a measured, neutral statement to his announcement.

It was even easy, to pretend indifference to this while respecting the democratic process.

_Governor Bail Antilles has served Juranno well, and more recently, was instrumental in the ongoing recovery of Triosa after the tragic groundquakes in that region. It is with regret that We accept his resignation, but support his changing goals. We also will welcome the new Governor elected by the people of the Juranno district._

Without looking at it again, she sent it off to Daska and Kista and marked it _for later_.

Closing her secure communication channel on her datapad, she switched over to the holonet again, and her patience about Bail’s announcement was rewarded.

He sat in his formal sitting room in front of a cluster of microphone droids. Someone had fixed his hair, he had changed into a fetching purple tunic with black trousers. He looked so handsome sitting there, calmly telling the people of Alderaan that Juranno needed a new Governor, that he was stepping down.

“My work in Triosa has made many things clear - I wish to serve more people, more immediately. I promise to you I will advocate for Alderaan with my every breath, whether you elect me as your Galactic Senator, or you chose someone else. The field will no doubt have many qualified candidates, including our sitting Senator Jor. But I have my youth, energy, and if I may be so bold, many good ideas to bring to the Senate floor and the Galaxy at large. Thank you for the consideration as I throw myself into this race.”

The footage went dead as his announcement ended, the pundits immediately began their spin and another anchor read Breha’s statement. She didn’t care what they had to say about her bland statement, and she switched back to her education files. She, too, had work to do.

 

***

 

Breha tried not to follow the Senate race too closely. From her distance, Elara Jor was fighting like hell to keep her seat, and six more candidates entered the race after Bail announced his intention. Alderaan had ranked voting, so it was anyone’s guess how this was going to play out. But Breha knew better than to publicly open her mouth.

Instead she established a few more cultural schools and offered generous grants for artists and teachers to take time out to teach courses to people of all ages. She negotiated with a publishing company to make all of their digital resources free and open. And she worked with her old political science professors to offer a sort of apprenticeship in roles all over her government, including taking on a handful of students herself. She hoped this would be a model for other universities, other departments. If she made more resources and money available, it might proved popular.

She wasn’t sure she’d be able to develop the mentorship that Master Jinn had with his Padawan, but then, careers were different from joining a religious order. She at least hoped she’d be able to establish a rapport with up and coming leaders. Especially if she encouraged them to disagree with her.

And her people seemed to love this new development of hers. The news reports were full of “Queen Breha, Minister of Education.” They had never fawned over Bara this way, but providing holonet to rural areas as part of an infrastructure plan wasn’t as visceral as opening schools (though expanding holonet access was part of Breha’s aims, as well.)

Deara sent her a local story from Belleau-a-Lir. “The moon is full,” it began. “She lights the way for all of us, reflecting our values back at us. She pulls us back to the essentials, teaching our children the lessons that were once new to us all.”

“Has Anla written moon poetry about you yet? She could take lessons from this guy,” Deara teased at the bottom of her message. “Miss you, you distant companion. But I’m glad you’ve settled on something you love. You’re becoming your own Queen.”

In it, she could hear her sister’s longing to never wear a crown.

And if the news loved her, that was nothing for the honey that was being poured on Bail’s name. Everyone spoke lovingly of him. Speculation about their romance was painted to make him look good, though they had not seen or communicated with each other since he offered his resignation. She missed Miko, too. Anla still came once a week to spar, but was careful not to talk about the election.

But silently, privately, she counted the minutes. Soon, regardless of the results, Bail would be hers. And if such a want was selfish, her courtship, marriage, and hopefully children, would at least protect Deara from a life she didn’t want. Bail would make a perfect consort, and if it took the other powerful political families time to get used to the idea, so be it. Breha wanted Bail, she always had wanted him.

 

***

 

Miko Caltrel was a genius, of this Bail was sure. He was not at all prepared with the pressures of running a planet-wide campaign, the sheer number of appearances he was asked to do was staggering. There were the grueling interviews, the debates with the other candidates, three separate trips to Coruscant, the extensive background checks. Not to mention the fact checking on every speech he gave, the endless tours, the continued scrutiny. And of course, the ongoing speculation about his relationship to the Queen.

Miko handled all of this like a pro.

Bail gained on Elara Jor in the polls, but given that this was ranked voting, Bail didn’t want to trust his victory -- or defeat -- to pundits.

“We’re going to do this,” Miko said. “We’re going to win. And not just because of your name.”

“Well that’s a relief to hear, given that I’ve paid you to run this campaign,” Bail said distractedly, reading through tomorrow’s speech on his datapad. “I could've just handed out business cards.”

“You _wish_ it was that easy.”  Miko sat across from Bail and poured a drink for them both.

They were back in Triosa, visiting as many people as they could who Bail had helped after the earthquake.

Miko slid a tumbler across the table. “Ultimately, that’s not the only reason you’re running. You have a big heart, and strong hands made for service.”

“So does Viceroy Jor,” said Bail, setting down his datapad and picking up the glass. “So does everyone in this field.”

“But the people of Alderaan are suckers for a love story. Forgive me, but this gives you an edge over Jor. If you were to make a statement about your intentions....”

“Absolutely not,” Bail said. He took a sip of the whiskey Miko hard poured. “That would be worse than winning because of my mother’s name.”

“Yeah well, her record isn’t exactly hurting you in the polls. Jor’s getting desperate, you could tell by her impassioned press conference yesterday on Coruscant. It’s difficult being a Senator and a candidate. Remember that if you win.”

“Yeah, will do.”  Bail swallowed the last of the tumbler’s contents.  

Miko finished their glass, took Bail’s empty one, and with a wave left him to his work.

As soon as Miko closed the door, Bail started counting, from one to one hundred. As he did so, he felt the office settle and quiet around him. Once he was sure he was alone, he pulled his bag to him. He rummaged around in an internal pocket and pulled out a stack of paper and a pen. Listening again, but still hearing nothing, he took a fresh sheet and began writing,

_My dearest B,_

He wasn’t sure why he'd started hand writing letters to her. They weren’t even love letters, really. They were just words about his day, what he was up to, what his hopes were. He wrote that he loved her, that he missed her, that he was doing this as much for him as he was Alderaan. It helped with the stress of his days. He missed talking to her, about problems and hiccups. He missed brainstorming solutions with her. She was so kind, so warm, and so very smart. Not that he wasn’t, but she often offered up this beautiful holistic view of things that helped him calibrate to new challenges.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the letters; he didn’t dare send them right now. Perhaps after the election, he’d bundle them up and hand deliver them when they could be sure they would be alone.

It was a sweet and tender thought, and it carried him through the campaign. After long days, if Bail had a little bit of energy left, he poured it out in ink onto paper.

So the year passed. On election day, after the photo op at his local polling place in Juranno, surrounded by the Antilles family, he went back to his apartment. “To rest,” he said, kissing his mother on the cheek. Instead, he wrote, and wrote, and wrote. It was slow going -- even after the year of handwriting nearly every day, Bail’s hand often cramped. It was a labor of love as he carefully constructed six pages worth of words for Breha.  

Carefully, he folded up the pages together, and tucked them underneath all the letters that he had written in the year up to this point. He found some string and tied them into seven neat bundles. He put them in another bag, waiting for some opportune moment.

Only then did he check the returns, reaching out to Miko. “What’s the news?”

 

***

 

“I, Bail Antilles, Viceroy of Alderaan, do so pledge to serve and protect her and her people, and to uphold and defend the Constitution, and to represent Alderaan in the Galactic Senate.”

This inauguration and the oath he swore was much different than the loyalty he'd sworn to the Queens of Alderaan, but he liked it all the same. Still, looking around at the people gathered in Aldra, and the microphone and camera droids, he had to catch his breath. The memories of the victory came flooding back to him as he shook every hand stretched before him.

 _We did it!_ Miko had roared that night. _You did it!_ The count had been so close, they were up until the early hours of the morning waiting for the runoff votes.

The speech was a blur, the party was intense, the concession call from Senator Jor felt otherworldly.

But today would be the first day in well over a year that he’d meet with Breha. The Palace had made some bland official statement about democracy and service, nothing in it could be read into, though it did not stop the gossip.

His heart quickened at the thought of her face this afternoon. It didn’t matter now what emotions he showed. It was hard not to take the victory as a tacit approval of a romance between the Queen and the Viceroy. Not that losing would have stopped him from courting her, he had promised.

 

***

  


_To be continued_ , she'd promised the last time she'd seen him, kissing him in the starlight.

Breha chose her dress very carefully that morning, the lightest possible silver gown that clung to her torso then gently flared out. She wanted to look like the starlight that night, wanted a small skirt to make her look more approachable. Her hair was caught up in a single deceptively simple brain down the center of her back, silver threads woven in to mimic a crown that she didn’t care to wear today. Green earrings completed the look. Breha didn’t mind taking an extra moment admiring her reflection before leaving her apartments for her office.

There wouldn’t be very many people the official palace photographer to record the event for posterity, Kista to wrangle the regional Governors that would shake Bail’s hand before their dismissal. And then after the theatrics, Breha and Bail would be alone to talk about Alderaan’s agenda.

Probably there weren’t many whose passions were lit by this kind of work, but Breha was working hard to control the butterflies in her stomach. Her slippers moved silently over the thick carpets in the palace as she made her way to her office. Breha enjoyed this walk each day, through the long corridors and vaulted ceilings, adorned with holos and even ancient paintings of her ancestors, wide windows showing off their beautiful mountains. These corridors were open to the public, the shared history of their planet something school children were led through on field trips.  

She didn’t linger now, following her normal path to Kista’s antechamber where everyone was waiting.

“Welcome,” she said with a grin. She couldn’t help it, her eyes found Bail. “Won’t you come in?”

She ushered everyone into her office and they all shook hands with Bail, posing for endless images. And then, after Bail had been given congratulations for the last time, she and Bail were alone with the door closed.

“Hi,” he whispered. Almost as though they might be discovered.

She clasped her arms behind her back and took a step towards him. “Hi.”

“So,” he said. He matched her step, and they were very close, a handshaking distance.

“So,” she said through another smile and another step.

They were now inches apart and she looked up at him, quirking an eyebrow as a dare and then whatever was holding them back snapped and they threw themselves at each other.

They picked up where they left off -- not just in the forest, but University when she ran away from him with no closure on either side. The visit to Aplaarora had been extended well after the recovery of the island from the tidal wave. Breha had done her finals as massive papers, sending them to her professors instead of sitting their exams. She'd then taken a semester off, learning to knit from one of the Aplaaroran elders, the master Karia Brishen. Breha loved learning traditions from regions on her planet, and though she never advanced to the Aplaaroran diamond cable, she found that knitting, even simple patterns, was calming. Upon her return to Aldra University, she was reassigned to a new cohort, outside of the one she had enjoyed with Miko and Bail, graduating after, in a different class.

But now she was anything but calm, knitting herself back with Bail, looping around him and tying herself to him in every kiss and touch. His hands roved up and down her back, tracing the fastenings curiously, but not undoing them, not yet. She slipped her hands over his backside, then trailed one up his spine to his hair. His mouth was warm over hers and she opened herself to him, his fingers notched themselves perfectly against her vertebra, it felt like home.  

He traced his lips over her cheek to her ear and whispered, “I missed you.”

She traced her fingers over his temple. “I missed you too, Bail.”

He trailed kisses down her neck and she tilted her head to accommodate him.  He stopped when he reached the neckline of her dress and they both paused. Her body demanded he keep going, but she could almost feel the amount of work they had to get through.

Bail cleared his throat gently, and she giggled.

“It’s like University,” she said teasingly, stepping away from him, trying to catch her breath.

“Indeed. Write the paper first, then... you know.”

“Then you stay for supper, which I hope will constitute more than fire crackers and beer,” Breha invited.

“Just us?”

“I should think so,” Breha said, stepping fully away and going to her desk. “Now, about your Senate post, let’s talk about how you’re going to reach out to Jor’s closest allies....”

Neither one stopped smiling throughout the meeting.

They were both used to working with each other, separating out their desires, so when the work was done, Bail almost felt a little odd following Breha through the palace to her apartments. They lingered in the corridors, under the pretext of looking at images of her family; it felt like an introduction. He felt like he had something to prove to these people, all of them long dead.

Circling around each other, they finally came to her door.

“I usually just heat up some leftovers if I’m not sitting down to a formal meal,” she said. “I hope that’s ok? I didn’t order a dinner.”

He smiled. “That sounds lovely. How can I be of use?”

She showed him into her tiny galley style kitchen, “Just open the wine and say entertaining things.”

He did as she asked and they flirted over a nice bottle of green wine while she threw together a salad, some bread, heated some heavy dish that had been served two nights ago when she had hosted some artists from Calla. They each took a plate and their silverware and curled up on the couch, watching a holodrama that Bail hadn’t yet seen, but his sisters loved. It turned out that Breha loved it too.

Eventually the empty plates were left on the side table and Breha curled up contentedly on Bail’s chest, watching wooden, fictional characters stare at each other and confess their love, five minutes after meeting again for the first time in years, both free for the first time.

Breha laughed at the plot point. “I hate when art imitates life.”

“Quite. Makes me feel like I’m living in a fishbowl.”

“You’d better get used to that, on Coruscant. If you think the rumors are bad now....”

“It’s worth it,” Bail said, trailing his fingertips over her spine again.

She leaned up and kissed him while the credit music played over her ears.  

They luxuriated in their current position for as long as they could, but Breha broke the kiss first. “I have an early morning,” she said regretfully.

“I do as well.”

Neither of them stated the obvious - that the gossip holos would be full of their long meeting tomorrow, that he was leaving in two days for Coruscant in two days.

Fishbowls, thought Breha, pushing herself up and straightening her dress.

She discreetly called for a droid to escort Bail back out of the palace, and while they waited, he dug in his bag.

“I know we’ll still be apart,” Bail said, “but I love the idea of coming back to Alderaan, and to you.” And he handed her three bundles of paper, tied with strings.

“What’s this?”

“I wrote to you, but I didn’t dare send them. No one is to read these but you.”

She took them from him, cradling gently in her arms. “Thank you. And I had better see you at least once more before you leave the planet.”

He rested a hand on her elbow as the butler droid requested access.

“Count on it.”

When the door shut behind him again, she curled up on the couch and opened the first bundle.

_“My dearest B....”_


	8. for me with a speed of white speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crisis in the Galactic Senate has the galaxy reeling for a young queen from a small planet, and Bail finds himself vaulted to unexpected heights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of ways to thank mrstater, but she's so generous with her beta skills. Thank you so much!
> 
> Title from [when i have thought of you somewhat too] by e.e. cummings.

Thirty two was rather young to be serving in the Galactic Senate, Bail knew. And the images of him chopping fallen trees in Triosa had spread like wildfire, even here, then there was the romance with Queen Breha, and well. With a lot to prove and not sure what to expect, he joined committee after committee in the hopes of being taken more seriously; on intergalactic judicial reform, on studying ecological effects of famine relief efforts, on finance reform of senate races. And he worked with Senator Mon Mothma to help reel in the Trade Federation, knowing firsthand how important trade was, but how exploitative it could be. So he helped her write what would become known as Prop 31-814D, a tax on the Free Trade Zones to be reinvested in the zone communities. It passed with a large majority and generally good press on the worlds it affected.

To say that it backfired unpredictably would be an understatement.

 ** _Blockade of Naboo Underway!_** the headline read. Bail nearly choked on his caf. _Details are unconfirmed at this time, as all communications from Naboo are being intercepted by the Trade Federation. Unconfirmed sources say that the Federation, in direct violation with their contract with the Galactic Senate, has advanced their droid army on Naboo. The Trade Federation in recent months have been subject to a new Galactic tax, one which reinvests itself in the smaller planets that depend on the Senate to help protect their worlds from exploitation. Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation protested Prop 31-814D, saying it cut into their profits too harshly, and would not allow them to reinvest their money into systems as they saw fit. Information is limited at this time, but it would appear the Trade Federation is flexing new muscles and trying to force the Senate to lift the new taxes as well as intimidate systems stronger than Naboo. However, we just confirmed that Queen Amidala, the democratically-elected leader of the planet, has escaped with her retinue. We have no idea what her plan or destination is, and are monitoring the situation closely. Please watch this space for further updates._

Unintended consequences. His direct channel to Alderaan beeped not a second later, with a message from Breha saying “Kista just pulled some research on Naboo’s Queen - she’s _fourteen_! Help her if you can. xo, B.”

 _Queen Amidala - half Breha’s age_ , he thought with a cringe. He switched channels and sent out urgent messages to his staff and to Mon Mothma’s staff, before sending a message of support to Naboo’s Senator Sheev Palpatine. The next few minutes passed in a flurry off messages, and Mon Mothma invited Bail to a meeting with Palpatine and Chancellor Finis Valorum. Any appetite Bail had disappeared in a sudden bout of nerves.

Switching gears, he opened the social sharing platforms. He knew full well that half of the information would be inconsistent and untrustworthy - especially with Nabooian communication shutdown; no messages were getting out, even on the holonet.

There were rumors, of Jedi, of an escape, of a shootout... but one thing was clear: the Queen disappeared out from underneath Nute Gunray’s green nose.

“What’s the plan?” Breha asked when she commed him later that morning. “More importantly, how can I support you?” All of her hair was pushed back into her ordinary coronet braids threaded with silver. Her eyes were bright and she looked like she was ready to fly to Naboo herself.

Bail hid a smile - this was serious work, life or death. Already there were reports of the people of Naboo being put in camps.

“I’m meeting with Mothma, Palpatine, and Chancellor Valorum in about an hour,” he replied, then took a drink of his caf, growing far too cold now. He didn’t care. “This is our mess.”

“It’s not, you’re closing a loophole. The Trade Federation are the ones who grew rich off the exploitation of others. Stay strong in this at least. You didn’t invade a midrim planet.”

He nodded. “Mothma agrees. We’re hoping to stop the blockade and intervene in any military action that the Federation has taken, so the Queen can come out of hiding. If Valorum places any sanctions on them, it might send a message.”

“Tell the Chancellor he can be sure of Alderaan’s support. We don’t have much trade with the Federation, but Kista and I are already planning how best to cut ties with them in the coming hours. You’re doing great work, Bail. Don’t worry, we’ll solve this. The best we can do is draw Queen Amidala out. I hope you can get word to her that we’re happy to help, in any way we can.”

Bail nodded. “Thank you, Breha, this is all very helpful.”

“I told you, support in this matter is crucial, especially if we hope to solve this diplomatically.”

“I just hope it doesn’t get bogged down in committee, or worse, the courts. This has to be seen as an attack on the sovereignty of Naboo, which the Trade Federation has no right to, on any planet.”

Breha smiled. “Don’t tell me, tell the Chancellor. And good luck, my love.”

She ended the comm.

Bail smiled. Picking up the datapad, he marched out of his office. His staff was in an uproar, pulling together research packs on Naboo and its relationship with the Trade Federation.  

“Right,” he told them. Every head looked up. “I’m off to meet with the Chancellor.” He swallowed heavily. “I have assurances from the Queen that Alderaan will do all they can to support Naboo at this time, so carry on with you present research, I’ll be available on my comm as soon as the meeting is over, and will return to the office when I can. Thank you for all your hard work, from me, from the Queen, and I’m sure on behalf of the Naboo people.”

 

***

 

“I miss you,” he said into his comm, the secure channel to Breha. It was a few days later - he had been in committee meetings since the beginning of the Naboolese blockade - some senators seemed to be swayed by his arguments, or by Palpatine’s.

“What do you miss?” she teased, an eyebrow arched.

“Mmmmm, you probably want me to flirt with you, B. But I’m just tired. If you were here, I could hold your hand and we can brainstorm together.”

“Yeah.... That does sound nice,” she laughed.

“It’s not official yet, but I had a meeting with Sheev today, he wants to call a vote of No Confidence on Valorum.”

“Why? Valorum made a speech yesterday about planetary sovereignty. He’s on Naboo’s side.”

“Because he’s furious about the blockade, and how long it’s taking to get beings to understand how this threat can spread to other vulnerable planets. I’m sure he’s also enraged at Mon and me, for writing the law. He voted against it. I think he also feels insecure and worried- he hasn’t been in contact with the Queen, no one knows where she is. She’s not on any known Republic world. The feeling here is frantic, which doesn’t lead to great decisions. I hope it doesn’t lead to no confidence.”  He inhaled loudly and exhaled again, as slowly as he tried to release some of his tension.

“Amidala will turn up. She has to,” Breha replied confidently, her voice calm and soothing. “And when she does, everyone will have to listen to her. With Valorum’s support, I’m sure sanctions will be put into place, which should appease Palpatine.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bail said. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his temples.

“Now tell me something nice. I know you’re tired, but what’s one good thing about today?”

She was the best person, he thought. So great at knowing where limits of sanity were, at pulling him back to himself. “Hmmm.... dinner was rather good. I picked up a biography about Chancellor Kalpana, trying to learn even more about the history of the Senate, as you know. Oh, and all four moons are out, for the first time since I got here.”

“Show me!” she demanded, suddenly excited.

Chuckling, he walked over to the window. “Okay, they’re not very bright, because of the light pollution, and the sun is so tiny, but,” he spun the comm around.

“Open the window,” she said, “There’s a glare.”

He did so, buffeted by the wind, this high up. “That’s Centax-1, Centax-2 and -3 are over here to the West,” he re-angled his arm. “And this one is Hesperidium.”  After a moment, he pulled the comm back in. “None so lovely as you.”

She ignored that. “Tell me about them.”

“Centax-1 is a penal colony we’re trying to close. -2 and -3 are barren, and Hesperidium is a resort now. Sheev speaks highly of it, maybe we’ll go sometime, if you visit.”

“Maybe. I’ve never actually been to a moon. Nor have I even seen one, just in holos.”

“Well these are my first four,” he said.

“I sometimes forget how young we are,” Breha said, leaning forward towards the camera of her comm.

“Not as young as Queen Amidala.”

“True,” Breha said. “I thought I was too young at twenty-five.”

“You were an excellent queen, right from the start.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re sweet to say so, but I couldn’t keep my mind off one of my regional governors, he had the cutest smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.”

He chuckled at that. “How is your Apprenticeship program going?”

“It’s going well I think, next semester I’m mentoring my first official cohort.”

“That’s exciting!”

“Yes! I’m thrilled. We selected our finalists last week, Kista says all of them have accepted.”

“Not just Aldra University, I hope?”

“No, only one of them. We did a blind selection process. No one can accuse me of favoritism.” She yawned and slumped down on her sofa, tapping her fingers on her stomach.

“Long day?”

“Yes, and a longer one tomorrow. No doubt your schedule is full, too.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I hate to end our call. I really do miss you. And I wish we could do more than hold hands.”

She smiled mischievously at that. “Mmm, like our goodbye?” Her voice was warm at the memory of the few hours they'd stolen the day before he left. It had felt so good and so right to make love to her. Worth a few comments the next day in the gossip holos, when he was out of reach on Coruscant.

“Something like that. We’re coming up on a legislative break. Maybe if the crisis is over, we can have a proper date.”

“I’d love that,” she agreed.

“Right,” he said.

“Yes.”  

It was clear neither wanted the conversation to end, though they were both exhausted.

“Well, she said, laughing, “I’m going to hang up on you, B. You’d better make time for me tomorrow.”

“Anything for the Queen.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she said.

He laughed now. “Goodnight, B,” he said softly.

“Love you,” she said, ending the call.

He stared at the empty channel for a moment before pulling himself to his feet. He really did have a long day tomorrow, there was a lot to do, and the Chancellor said he was starting to send out people to search outer rim planets, controlled by either the Galactic Alliance nor the Separatists. Hopefully she would be found soon, but Bail shuddered to think of her in those rough places.

“Too young,” he told his mirror as he washed his face and brushed his teeth. Breha was right, Amidala was far too young for any of this.

He’d make sure she had good allies in the Senate.

 

***

 

“Honorable representatives of the Republic, distinguished delegates, and Your Honor Supreme Chancellor Valorum, I come to you under the gravest of circumstances. The Naboo system has been invaded by force. Invaded...against all the laws of the Republic by the Droid Armies of the Trade...”

Breha had been right. Queen Amidala turned up, escorted by a fleet of handmaidens, two Jedi, a Gungan, and a little boy recently liberated from slavery on the outer rim. Rumors were flying fast and thick. And while Bail and Mon had angled for a meeting with her and a calmer Palpatine, they were rebuffed.

“Help her,” Breha had messaged him that morning. As if he needed the reminder. She was so small, engulfed by an elaborate headdress, hidden by a heavy mask of makeup, wearing a statement of a dress. Naboo’s fashion-based culture was on full display, and Amidala’s voice didn’t waver.

Lott Dod, representing the Trade Federation, was not silent, “I object! There is no proof. This is incredible. We recommend a commision be sent to Naboo to ascertain the truth.”

“Overruled,” Valorum tried to dismiss them.

“Your Honor, you cannot allow us to be condemned without reasonable observation. It's against all the rules of procedure,” Representative Dod insisted.

A third box representing Malastare moved into the center of the room. Aks Moe, the ambassador from Malastare addressed the convention. “The Congress of Malastare concurs with the honorable delegate from the Trade Federation. A commision must be appointed...that is the law.”

Valorum was struggling to regain order, “The point...” His staff was quick to confer with him. Palpatine took the opportunity to whisper something in Amidala’s ear.

Fatigue evident in his voice, Valorum continued to Amidala, “The point is conceded...Section 523A take precedence here. Queen Amidala of the Naboo, will you defer your motion to allow a commission to explore the validity of your accusations?”

The mask revealed nothing, but her voice was full of fury. “I will not defer - I have come before you to resolve this attack on our sovereignty _now_ . I was not elected to watch my people _suffer_ and _die_ while you discuss this invasion in a committee! If this body is not capable of action, I suggest new leadership is needed. I move for a "vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum's leadership.”

A murmur throughout the chamber turned into a roar of approval. Valorum appeared shocked; his aid called for order.

 _Help her_ , Bail heard in his head, and directed his box into the arena to be heard. “Alderaan seconds the motion for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum.”

“The motion has been seconded by Bail Antilles of Alderaan!”

Bail continued, “There must be no delays. The motion is on the floor and must be voted upon in this session.”

The assembly began to chant, _Vote now! Vote now! Vote now!_

And in a rush of votes, Valorum was thrown out of power.

The Naboo box went back to its bay, and Bail watched as Queen Amidala strode out into the hallways, back out of sight.

Motions were made for a new Supreme Chancellor, Bail tried to keep up with the cacophony when he heard his name “I nominate Bail Antilles of Alderaan!”

He looked up in shock, as someone second the motion.

On his screen, he saw two options, _Accept_ and _Decline_ . With a shaking finger, he tapped _Accept_ to a roar of approval.

 _So fast, so young._ He’d have a lot to talk about with Breha tonight, he thought. Ainlee Teem of Malastare and Sheev Palpatine definitely had more experience and credibility in the Senate, but given that Palpatine had mentioned a vote of no confidence, and that it had come to pass, Bail suddenly thought he was one to watch carefully.

He had no idea what to expect from Queen Amidala. Was she just here to do her Senator’s bidding?

 

***

 

It was difficult to watch the Galactic Senate from so far away, Breha realized. She kept a close eye on the events around the Blockade of Naboo, Bail’s first crisis in the Senate. Evidently someone thought he was doing a good job, two people even, since they nominated him Supreme Chancellor.

He was so young and untested, but he had made a name for himself. Breha felt very possessive, she did not want to see him elected, though it would elevate Alderaan’s status in a very real way. She missed him far too much to lose him even more.

Thank the goddess she didn’t have a vote in that body. Thank the goddess he confessed to her that he felt vertigo at the prospect, that he accepted and immediately regretted it.

She had turned her attention to the reports coming out of Naboo, at first unconfirmed, but then substantiated. Freedom fighters and an underground resistance had joined forces with the Queen and her handmaidens, had joined forces with the Gungans, semi-amphibious beings native to Naboo. And by the sweat of her brow and with grit in her fingernails, Amidala took Theed back for Naboo, destroying the Trade Federation’s foothold and forcing them to resign the original treaty.

And then the Senate picked Palpatine, to further legitimize the treaty. Sanctions were made against the Trade Federation and the whole thing went to the Galactic Courts, which would take years to decide, it was true. But Naboo was free.

A Senatorial delegation was sent to Naboo, but Bail came home to her.  

And after the pomp around a returning senator, she pulled him into her apartments and began undressing him.

“You did wonderfully,” Breha said, pulling off his tunic and running her hands up his chest and behind his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said. He undid several of her buttons and began kissing the skin that was revealed along her shoulders. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Me too. And I’m glad you’re here, not on Naboo. Not Supreme Chancellor.”

“Oh goddess, me too.”

She giggled and stepped out of her shoes, closer to him. He reached down, gathered her up, and carried her to the bedroom.

He shut the door behind them and said, “Now, the only thing I care about today is you.”

“Perfect,” she replied, and slid completely out of her dress.


	9. suddenly the lighted living hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to a planet with three moons, and a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not tired of hearing me sing the praises of mrstater, who so kindly beta'd again, and basically polished the opening of this chapter to a SHINE. I'm so blessed, and I mean that sincerely. All mistakes remain my own. 
> 
> The title is from "[a thing most new complete fragile intense,]" by, you guessed it, e.e. cummings.

“That one’s Onoam," said Padmé Amidala, drawing Breha's eye up to a bright spot of light in the night sky. "It’s a vacation spot for us, lots of lovely fields and pink skies, and that one’s Ohma-D’un, very swampy and marshy. The Gungans are establishing a settlement there. And the third one is Tasia, but the Gungans call it Rori. It’s a sacred place that we’re not supposed to visit. We worship it as the living moon of the goddess Shiraya; to the Gungans it is holy because its where the first Gungans were created.”

Before he'd returned to the Senate, Bail had reached out on Breha's behalf to the young Queen Amidala, who'd extended an invitation to Naboo almost immediately. Breha had never left Alderaan before. This was an exciting prospect, and a little scary. The regional governors would be strong and steady while she was away, so Breha tried not to worry about her moonless Alderaan.

So here she was on Amidala’s balcony, watching the three moons and sipping on a cocktail. The Nabooian Handmaidens floated around, just out out earshot, anonymous in their long matching dresses and hoods that concealed their faces. Breha didn’t know quite what to make of these faceless guardians, but knew they'd aided the Queen in her battle for Theed.

“You must have missed them terribly during your ordeal,” Breha said, looking back up at the night sky. It was so bright with the moonlight, though it washed out any color. Breha’s gray gown seemed to gleam in the light. She wore a red underskirt and red gloves to complement the Naboo royal color, and it made her gray look bold and dynamic for a change. She felt dynamic, as if actual moonlight served to strengthen her own symbolism.

The young Queen offered a small smile, allowing emotion to crack her perfectly applied mask.

“Yes, it’s always hard to be away from Naboo, and to carry the knowledge that my people were suffering. But it was a comfort to know that Tasia was full the whole time of the invasion. Shiraya is at her most powerful then.”

“Of course,” Breha replied diplomatically.

“But even if Tasia hadn’t been full, I knew that she was still orbiting Naboo. Even if we can’t see her, we know she’s there, and it’s how we make it through the night.”

“Rather like hope,” Breha said.

“Quite. Forgive my philosophizing, it’s not what you came here for,” Queen Amidala said.

“On the contrary, I came to see your moons. I had always suspected planets with moons are granted the emotional and physical stability that Alderaan looks for in art.”

“And in you, your Grace. I’ve looked up Alderaan in the days since the Blockade. Your Viceroy was so supportive in that terrible time, I truly cannot thank you enough. If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that you are your planet’s satellite. And your insistence that Viceroy Antilles help me felt like grace from Shiraya herself.”

Breha took a sip of her cocktail to give her a minute to think after that little speech. “Perhaps that’s why I’ve been fascinated with moons since I was a little girl. That desire to steady and strengthen others.”

Amidala offered another smile.

Breha set her empty glass down on the table. “Now, may I ask how your people have been recovering from their own trials?”

And the two Queens set aside their philosophies and focused on how to serve a traumatized planet.

 

***

 

Breha and Amidala toured Theed, especially those areas affected by the Trade Federation. Breha visited all kinds of folks, and even met some Gungans who now served on Queen Amidala’s advisory cabinet. All were kind and welcoming; Breha was careful not to offer advice unless they explicitly asked for her opinion. Naboo was beautiful, Theed was stunning, and Breha found she was a bit sad to leave.

“Say you’ll come visit us on Alderaan,” Breha said on the landing platform.

Queen Amidala had escorted her royal guest here, her line of handmaidens like a silent shadow behind them.

“I would be glad to,” Amidala replied.

“And should you ever wish to discuss anything, Queen to Queen, you know I would be glad to support you in anyway you might wish.”

“You’ve given us so much already, I promise to reach out to you or Senator Antilles should I ever require your counsel. You were united in your aid of Naboo, and I shall forever think warmly of you both.”

“We are united in most things.” Breha reached out and and Amidala took her hand. “Your planet is lovely and you hardly need my help, I know. But I do also hope we can be friends.”

The white mask cracked once more. “I could always use more friends,” Queen Amidala said.

The women squeezed each others’ hands.

“And I mean it about a visit, you’re welcome anytime you can spare it.”

And with a gleam in her eye but never breaking her official accent, Queen Amidala managed to tease, “Maybe for a wedding?”

Breha felt herself blush. “Well, I suppose we were speaking of unions.”

They shook hands once more and Breha felt Amidala’s eyes on her the whole way to the _Ascendent_.

Unions, Breha thought on her way to her quarters. She watched out the window as they left Naboo’s atmosphere. The crew looped around Onoam, using its gravitational force to sling them further into space before making the jump to lightspeed. Breha closed the blind so as not to stare too much at the stars speeding past her window. She’d watched it for a little while on her way to Naboo until Kista had warned her it was bad for human vision to watch it for too long.

She called Kista now, and she hardly had to wait a minute before her secretary knocked.

“Come in,” Breha said, arranging herself on the couch.

“Yes, your Grace?”

“I was wondering if I could get a message to Deara on the secure line?”

“You’ll have to wait until we’re through hyperspace, ma’am. Is there something I can help with?”

“Not really, at least not now. I just wanted to talk to my sister.”

“Of course. Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Right then. We should be arriving in Coruscant very shortly ma’am, and they you’ll be able to contact your sister. Viceroy Antilles is aware of our ETA, he’ll send us the landing pad information when we arrive.”

“Sounds like everything is in hand.”

“We do try,” Kista said with a smile before excusing herself.

Breha pulled off her tiara - a proper one suitable for a royal visit. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but metal circlets always weighed one down. Breha supposed that was the point. She absently traced the crescent moon motif around it and pondered.

She didn’t think Deara would be surprised that Breha was thinking about proposing to Bail. It was something she’d been considering since he was elected to the Senate, but instinct told her to wait a year, to see if they could handle the separation.

The comment from Amidala had struck a cord, or rung a bell, or whatever metaphor you wanted to use. But Breha was tired of waiting. She always hoped that she’d have children early, giving them plenty of time before the eldest daughter was expected to lead. Hopefully older than fourteen, older than twenty-five. She could do it alone, of course. Bara had.

But Bail... she’d have a happy marriage with him. It would be so nice. They wouldn’t have to pretend to keep each other at a distance when they were on the same planet. Such bliss was delicious to think about. And their children... they’d be lovely children, Breha thought, having made a complete circle around the tiara.

She’d see how this visit went, and then during the next legislative break in a few weeks, she’d propose when they were both on Alderaan.

The _Ascendent_ shuddered lightly and Breha replaced the tiara. Pulling out her comm, she sent a quick message to her sister, “Let’s talk soon,” and she stepped into the corridor and went to meet Bail.

Coruscant was overwhelming after the visit to Theed. Layers of traffic surrounded her whenever they were outside, inside there were always people to see, hands to shake. Colleagues of Bail’s fellow senators, aids, security. She spent the night in Bail’s apartment, which was a silent oasis from all the noise outside.

“Soundproof glass,” he confessed, rapping on the windows in his bedroom.

“Goddess bless that invention,” she replied, lounging on the bed. It was the middle of the night and they’d need to actually sleep soon.

She reached out a hand to Bail and he came back to bed.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, curling back into her arms.

“Oh?” she smiled, thinking of surprises.

“How does a trip to Hesperidium sound?”

“The moon?” Breha’s eyes flashed with delight.

“Of course! You deserve to see one up close and personal.” He smile was so wide at her excitement, his eyes were crinkling at the corners.

“Bail. I’d love to!”

“Good, we leave bright and early in the morning, so I suppose we ought to get some sleep.”

“Or...” she purred, pulling him closer.

“Or,” he seemed to agree and leaned in for another kiss.

 _Oh yes,_ Breha thought, settling over him. _I’m going to marry you._

 

***

 

Hesperidium was like a dream after the noise of Coruscant; Breha could see why it had become a playground for wealthy senators. Bail had rented a vacation house for them and their respective retinues for the night.

She was tucked up on a blanket on a rolling hill, a small village laid out like children’s toys in front of her. Everything here was elaborate and large except for this small community. Bail took her here instead of the flashy retreat, knowing she’d like it better. Breha had worn dark grays and blues to soak up the meager sunlight more efficiently, but Bail had insistent on blankets, for which she was glad.

He was off in town buying things for a picnic, and Breha could spy on him from her spot on the hill as he made his way from shop to shop.

Her comm chirped.

“Sorry I didn’t call you back right away!" Deara said, without a greeting. "It’s been a whirlwind here.”

“Not to worry, there’s also a time difference.” Breha studied her sister’s face, alight with some new project and smudged with dust and dirt.

“Kriff, I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No, this is a perfect time to talk, I’m even alone.”

“A miracle! What did you want to talk about?”

“I just thought you should know I’m planning on proposing to Bail.”

“ _Finally,_ ” she teased.

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“Sure it is. The planet will be thrilled. I’m thrilled for you! Plus everyone will have a royal wedding to look forward to.”

“Will you still be thrilled when I ask you to be my attendant?”

“Under the condition that you don’t make me wear a wig.” Deara shook her head and her short hair seemed to dance.

Breha laughed. “You have my word, wear your hair however you like. But you’ll wear white?”

“Of course I will, and I promise no sculpture dust.”

“The best sister anyone could ask for.”

Deara laughed. “Something like that. I should get back to this commission. You’ll be home tomorrow?”

“Yes, I hope to see you soon.”

“Promise!”

Breha blew her sister a kiss and signed off. She looked up to see Bail marching bravely up the hill to her, his arm full of foodstuffs for the feast. Breha leaned back on her elbows and admired how handsome he was, how true, and how lucky she was to have found him.

 

***

 

Breha ordered tea from the kitchens, with pastries that were lighter than air. She was pretty sure she knew how this meeting would go down, surely what she had to ask wouldn’t be a surprise to Bail. But in a fit of nerves, she felt like she had to do something.

So now they were sitting on her sofa in the half-light of the late afternoon.

“So I’ve been doing some thinking,” Breha said setting her teacup aside and scooting closer.

“Let me guess, a new ribbon-making school? Or perhaps a traveling art show? Or shadow puppets?” Bail set aside his own cup and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“All good ideas, but no.”

He laughed. “I’ll file them away for later then.”

“I was thinking Alderaan hasn’t had a royal wedding since my grandparents', and if you’re interested, I think we could show them a good time. And, you know, I love you in a way that borders on desperation.”

His smile remained, but his fingers trembled as he touched her face. “I am very interested. You know I have always felt the same way, a desperate sort of love. I’d do anything for you, Breha.”

“It’ll be irritating,” she warned. “Very traditional and we won’t have much say. Everyone will have to be invited, and we’ll have to broadcast the ceremony to everyone who can’t be crammed into the temple.”

“I’m yours on any terms,” he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “You know that. The planet knows that.”

She laughed and kissed him. One thing led to another and the tea was very cold indeed by the time the remembered it.

“We have to stop making this a habit,” Bail said lazily.

“I don’t know, it feels fitting that we keep making love on the couch,” Breha teased his nipple.

He chuckled and rested a hand over hers to stop the tickling. “Do we get to chose our own bridal trip?”

“Probably we should stay on Alderaan.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to a moon? That’s what some worlds call their bridal trips, honeymoons.”

“I like that,” she said. “But we should hoard our happiness, I don’t want to spend a lot of time traveling.”

“Fair enough. You know, I can take the family sailboat, we could go to Lake Gichi.”

“Sounds perfect. Just you and me.”

“That’s the general idea,” Bail said, tapping his fingers over hers.

“Poor Kista has to plan a wedding, and not even hers. Maybe I can ask Daska to help her.”

Bail laughed. “There’s got to be an instruction manual around here somewhere. How to plan a Royal Wedding.”

“I could ask Miko, they probably know.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Let’s wait until tomorrow to tell everyone,” Breha said. She yawned.

“Hoard it a little longer,” Bail agreed, kissing her hair.


	10. we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning a wedding is hard enough, and then events conspire to make things even more difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, big ups to mrstater for her help and guidance in this chapter. I barely remember writing this chapter months ago, only that I wanted to distance myself from it immediately. She pulled me back and helped me make it better. For the rest of you who are unfamiliar with the canon of Breha's journey to becoming a mother (and who are ignoring the tags), this chapter carries a trigger warning of miscarriage. 
> 
> Also, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you - it's now expected to be 20 chapters long. Oops? 
> 
> The title comes from [who knows if the moon’s] by e.e. cummings

Who knew a Royal Wedding took six months to plan? Breha didn’t. After she and Bail set a date early into his longest legislative break, she told him to plan the bridal trip. She and Kista focused on the ceremony and the public celebrations. Gossip holos made daily speculations on her dress, on what he might wear, on everything from the flowers to the food. Some of them were on the money given how traditional the ceremony would be. If she were still a princess it would've been different. If she had been younger and third or fourth in line, she might've been able to elope entirely. But people expected their Queen to throw a decent party. At least that was what she was told.

They probably weren’t expecting a pregnant bride, but Breha didn’t think anybody would be completely surprised.

She was two months along when she told Bail, home for a quick break to the six districts. She met him on the palace’s private landing platform, and as soon as they were inside the entrance hall, and safely alone, she told him.

“You’re sure?” he said, a little shocked.

“My physician confirmed it.” Breha smiled.

He swooped down and kissed her hard, then picked her up and twirled her around until she was dizzy.

“Put me down, B, I’m delicate!”

Roaring with laughter, he did as she said, then kissed her again for a long long time.

When he finally pulled away, he asked breathlessly, “When is the baby due?”

“About five and a half months after the wedding. The dressmaker agreed on a looser dress so probably it won’t be too noticeable. And if it is...” she shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m thrilled.”

“So am I,” Bail said.

“Deara will be too, no doubt.”

“And my sisters.”

And she gleefully dragged him up to her apartments.

A week after he left for Coruscant, Breha woke early to cramps which made her uneasy, and later in the fresher, she discovered spots of blood on her undergarments that she didn’t want to see. “No, no no,” she said aloud, taking herself by surprise.

She called her handmaiden, Zanz; she would know what to do.

“Lie down, Your Grace, and I’ll call for your physician,” Zanz said, leading Breha back to her bed.

Breha followed her advice, lying back down, holding herself very, very still. She rested her hands low on her belly, and thought, Hold tight.

Zanz came back into the room. “Your physician is on her way, and I’ve alerted Ms. Wyrren that you may not be able to make your appointments today. She is rearranging your schedule, please don’t worry about a thing.”

That was easy for her to say. But she was trying to be kind, Breha reminded herself. Zanz was helping. “Thank you,” she said.

“Can I get you anything else?” Zanz asked.

“I don’t know,” Breha said helplessly. A low ache started in her back, and she closed her eyes against the sensation.

“Alright.” Zanz squeezed her shoulder.

In less than ten minutes, Dr. Nomi, a small human woman with a kind face and green hair, was there with a med-scanner and looking for the tiny button that was supposed to be her baby. She asked gentle questions and listened carefully as Breha explained the cramps early this morning, the spotting, the backache. After a few moments, her expression turned from concerned to sad.

“I’m afraid this is altogether too common, Your Grace. Whatever you are feeling at the moment is perfectly normal. But people go on to have perfectly healthy pregnancies.”

Breha felt very detached as she heard Dr. Nomi explain that these things happened, especially in the early months, what to expect the next few hours, and what warning signs to watch for. She had a good bedside manner, Breha thought as Dr. Nomi carefully repacked her bag. Calm, focused, gentle. It was all there. But Breha felt so cold.  
  
Zanz had also summoned Deara, who was there within the hour, and Bail who arrived by nightfall.

“I don’t know what to say, B. But we’ll try again.”

“I wanted this one,” she said, collapsing into herself. There was no getting a second opinion even, the fetus had passed just before Bail had arrived. Her symptoms had alleviated, but her heart felt shattered. She was glad that Bail was with her, but she also wanted her mother. And she wanted her baby.

“I did too, my love.”

They slept curled tightly around each other. Bail stayed with her as long as he dared, but Breha knew she was keeping him from his work. Kista was keeping work from her as well, and put it around the the Queen was battling a mild virus.

“I’m sorry for being so selfish,” she said one morning. Her hair was loose from a restless night, her eyes were tired and puffy.

Bail tucked a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to him. “You have nothing to be sorry about about. You are not being selfish. I’m here because of course I should be. It’s only right that we do this together.” He sat back on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she said quietly. But then she straightened up. “But you should go back soon.”

“I’ll make arrangements for the end of the week, and then you can tell me if you need more time.”

“I won’t. We still have a wedding to plan,” she said, offering him a smile that was perhaps a little brittle in the corners.

He kissed her forehead. “Something to look forward to.”

 

***

 

“There will be a two-day feast with parties across the planet hosted by the regional governors, the wedding and parade will be broadcast, through the gossip holos would like to know the details of the route, if we can have those planned out soon, and of course you’ll need to decide which crown you would like to wear. Tradition dictates that the prince consort does not get a crown at the wedding. Ma’am?”

Breha turned around to face her secretary. She'd been lost in thought, gazing out the window. “Sorry, I’m just a bit distracted today.” So much for today being her first day back to work.

Kista nodded. “Do you want to do this later?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all -- just remember, you have a dress fitting in two hours.”

“Very well. I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”

“Of course.”

Kista tried not to look worried as Breha drifted from the room, but she called Deara to let her know she might want to run interference.

Breha did not go take a nap, instead she wandered through the corridors and great rooms of the Palace, then let herself into the secret passages that led down into the heart, the sparring rooms. She hadn’t been down here in weeks, though Anla messaged about it every other day. Anla was worried about her, everyone was. Breha was worried about herself in an abstract way.

She went into the armory and ran her fingers along the hilts that she knew by touch. Up and down the rows, until she came at last to the Wismew Masa rapiers.

She had just lifted one out of its sheath when she heard her sister say, “I thought I might find you here.”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Lately, yes, but I’m glad of it. May I spar with you?”

“I haven’t practiced in ages.”

“I assure you, it’s been longer for me.” Deara came up behind her sister and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and rested her chin on Breha’s shoulder. “Go easy on me?”

“Always.”

Deara took the second rapier and, after some stretches and donning their safety pads, they crossed blades, just enough to get their blood moving. Deara had set an alarm to remind them to go for Breha’s fitting.

“Are you wearing the sword of state?” Deara asked, peeling off her helmet.

“What, to the fitting? I don’t think the dressmakers care about it, to be honest. They’re more interested in matching the motif of whatever crown I choose.” Breha unstrapped her gloves.

“No, I mean... you should wear a sword that day. Your wedding sword. And the light tiara with the half moons.”

“Are you my stylist now?”

“Never,” Deara laughed. She shucked her gear down to her regular clothes, which she wore tight to be out of her way when sculpting. “Only, you have some color back in your cheeks today. You should bring a sword with you to your wedding. For luck. And you’ll be wearing that tiara all day, whatever you do. The lighter, the better.”

“What would I do without you?” Breha asked, leaning on her sister’s shoulder.

“Have a headache on your wedding night, instead of wedding sex?”

Breha genuinely laughed for the first time in weeks. And as she returned the Masa rapier to its scabbard, she thought that Deara had a point. Instead of placing it back in the armory, she attached it to her belt and followed her sister upstairs to meet the dressmaker.

  
***

 

The temple was packed full of people and Breha tried not to be nervous, standing off to the side with Bail.

“You look like a vision, has anyone told you that?” he said, leaning down to her ear.

“You, about twelve minutes ago when you saw me for the first time. And you clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

He was all in white, with a deep red sash across his chest. His hair was styled back, and Breha could tell there was plenty of product holding it in place.

Her own hair was full pins. It would take her several hours to take down what her sister had literally sculpted out of her long trailing braids. She dressed all in silver, edged in heavy golden lace with a starry pattern. The gown was very heavy, but Breha herself felt very light. And as Deara had suggested, she wore one of the Masa rapiers, buckled onto a red belt around her small waist. She had tried not to feel an empty pang when she put it on, but with Bail ahold of her elbow, it was easier not to feel sad.

“Ready?” he asked, as the crowd settled down.

“Ready,” she replied.

Much like her coronation three years ago, Alderaan weddings were fairly simple. The couple enter a sacred space together, arm in arm. Their vows were customary: Love, Honor, Cherish, said under a red silk canopy. In addition to the traditional vows, Bail and Breha promised Service, Patience, and Hope. There was a shared cup of wine, and a walk around the Goddess’ altar while a blessing was said. And then Breha and Bail kissed and all was over -- they were married.

Bail kept a warm hand on her elbow as they proceeded over freshly scattered flowers, out of the temple and into a speeder. She held his hand tightly as they rode through Aldra, their retinue behind them, all their guests went back to the Palace where their sisters would charm and entertain them.

Confetti and streamers rained down on them, they smiled and waved at the crowd, occasionally giving in to the crowd who chanted Bitter, bitter!, with the obvious antidote being a kiss, to make life sweet. Bail kissed her until she blushed, and the crowd roared every time, and then they’d start chanting again, Bitter, bitter!

They returned to the palace and feasted with their guests. The reception lasted until dawn. Breha was sure she danced with everyone there, including the young Queen of Naboo and maybe three of her handmaidens? She’d lost count. Finally, Bail dragged her upstairs and they collapsed in their bed, too exhausted to do much more than remove the most irritating of Breha’s hairpins. When they woke late the next morning, they were in a tangle of sheets, but not in a state of undress either were expecting. The first thing they did was peel off each other’s clothes. They were beyond words here, touching and kissing and breathing together. It felt to Breha like she was still dancing, only now, Bail was her only partner. He slotted his fingers against her spine and she leaned down to kiss him, her hair falling out of its style in magnificent sheets. Bail slid another hand up her thigh, knowing their time together was always limited and measured. But this morning, they went slowly, as if learning each other anew. He was almost reverent of her, she set a slower pace then she normally preferred. His kisses were deep and seemed to steep further into her than she thought possible. When she came, it was like a revelation and as he finished inside her, she hoped in a detached sort of way that they would become pregnant again, soon. But like every true wish, she dared not say it aloud.

“Well,” said Breha.

“I’d do that again,” Bail said.

“I’m sure you mean the wedding,” Breha said, pulling the sheet up over them.

He chuckled.

“When do we leave for the Lake?” she asked.

“It’s all prepared for us, we can leave anytime we want. I figured we’d want a bit of a lie-in, after a late night.”

“Such a clever man, my husband,” she said, walking her fingers between his freckles.

“I’m just trying to keep up with you, B.”

She didn’t bother responding to that, preferring to tuck herself closer into his side for a short nap.

 

***

 

The sailboat was smaller than she expected, Lake Gichi was larger, and she was further surprised by the weather. “I didn’t expect it to be so cold!” She raided Bail's canvas bag and wrapped herself in his clothes on top of her own. Neither seemed to mind much.

“I packed colorful clothes, but clearly not enough layers,” she confessed. “And,” she pulled out a package “all the beautiful letters you wrote me from the campaign.”

“Those are hardly love letters, Breha,” he laughed.

“On the contrary, B. Our love is so singular, they couldn’t be anything else. Besides, they’re so colored with longing, how did we even survive without each other?”

“By pining, mostly. Now sit down, before you slip on the deck.”

She settled next to him and watched his practiced hands sail them out of the harbor and onto the lake.

He took her all around the local islands, they ducked onto lee sides to keep out of the wind and away from the waves. At night he held her close and told her stories about the shipwrecks and the lighthouses. She had to check in with Kista once a day, but other than that, they had only each other for a full week. True to her word, she only wore bright colors which made her all his, not the queen, not the moon, but a human woman.

“I could live on this boat,” she declared one day, watching the clouds race each other.

“Might be a bit tight, once we get some kids on here.”

“Very well, we’ll have to get a bigger one. But let’s take to the high seas.”

“You mean the high Lake?”

“Yes, we’ll never master her, she’ll be a lifelong challenge to shoulder against. Together.”

He took her hand then. “I’m sure we’ll find plenty of things to shoulder against, together.”

The last night, they sailed out under the stars. It was perfectly calm, the wind seemed to be exactly where Bail needed it. He dropped an anchor, and they let the boat rock them gently. They were content to float, hand in hand in the starlight, both of them reluctant to go back to their lives.

“It’s a beautiful bridal trip, Bail, I should leave all my planning to you. Any interest in being my auxiliary private secretary?”

He chuckled and kissed her temple. “Kista would kill me, I think, or at least fire me for incompetence.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to carry on in the Senate.”

“I serve at the pleasure of the Crown and the people of Alderaan,” he reminded her.

“I know I can speak for the Crown when I say I’m very pleased.”

“Is this a performance review, or pillow talk?”

“Can’t it be both?” she said, sliding her hand into his trousers.

He picked her up and took her below deck, she laughed the whole way.


	11. shallowness of sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another disappointment. Being Queen isn’t exactly a fairytale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to mrstater for being such a generous beta-reader, week after week.
> 
> The chapter title is once again from e.e. cummings, [cruelly,love]

She was so afraid of jinxing it. It’d been months since she miscarried the first time, that initial rush of appointments that told her there was nothing to worry about. This time, she waited to see her physician about confirming the pregnancy she suspected. Breha hadn’t even told Bail, she kept it so close to her chest.

And then in the shower, she noticed a few spots of blood on the tile, quickly washed away.

It was a long time before she came out of the shower again; the water ran cold on her skin. She was still bleeding, beginning to cramp. It was very, very light, considering she wasn’t very far along by her own reckoning.

She sent a message to Bail saying “it happened again” and called Kista to tell her she wasn’t feeling well.

Then she made a cup of tea and curled up on the couch with a heated medpad across her back, her damp braid draped over the arm of the couch which was sure to be terrible for the upholstery.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up, Bail was there, sitting next to her on the floor, dozing lightly. He clearly wanted to be close to her, but didn’t want to wake her up. The sunlight slanted through the window, casting long shadows in the early evening. He must have dropped everything and ran to his ship. With a watery smile, she slowly reached out and feathered her fingers through his dark hair.

His eyes fluttered open and found hers. He reached up and took her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said. It was a question, not an admonishment.

“I didn’t want to jinx it,” she confessed.

“We’re in this together,” he reminded her.

She pulled herself up and made room for him on the couch. He settled in and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she told him.

He didn’t say anything to that, just lightly traced fingers down her back, her loose sleeping clothes moved easily under his hand. She felt the ragged ends of her emotions soothed.

“Tell me what happened?”

“I feel like I’m going insane,” she told him. “Isn’t it true that some beings think the moon can drive people insane? On Ganthel they have one moon, they call it Luna. They call mentally ill people _lunatics_.”

“Breha,” he said.

“Such a pretty word, luna. It would make a pretty name. And on other planets, menstrual cycles are measured by the moon. Maybe that’s why mine has been so sporadic, because we don’t have one of those. I’m supposed to be that force here, you’re supposed to measure your life by mine and I can’t do the one thing I’m supposed to do, have another moon.”

She cried, now, she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t sure she was making much sense.

“Maybe I wanted it too much. What could live with so much pressure?”

Bail listened to all of this. And then he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are not going insane. I’m not a mental health doctor, but it seems to me you’re grieving, you’re anxious, you’re depressed. We’ll get you the help you need. And we’ll see a doctor about why we can’t....”

She couldn’t speak, she was crying too hard.

“And once we have all the information we can get, we’ll figure out our next steps, together. I love you, Breha. And we both love children, but you are more important to me than anything else.”

“I love you too,” she managed. “I just... nothing’s changed, and I wanted change so badly. I wanted a little tyrant of a newborn to change our lives and turn it upside down. I wanted to hold her close and teach her about the Galaxy and learn everything there was to know about her.”

He held her so tightly. “Me too, my love, me too.”

Breha was running out of tears, and her head ached from dehydration.

Bail must have sensed this, because he asked, “Have you eaten today?”

“No,” she said. The tea she made was long since cold.

“Wait here,” he said.

He brought her a tall glass of water and watched her drink it, then refilled it. She sipped at it while she checked her messages, checked the news, checked on her beloved Alderaan. It was, thankfully, a slow news day. Her tragedy had not affected the planet in any way. There was a blip about Bail returning to Alderaan because he was ill.

“What disease do you have?” she called out to him.

He poked his head out of the kitchen. “Oh, it’s really rare, it’s called ‘my-wife-needed-me-itis'.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I meant so we can release a corroborating statement.”

“Oh,” he said. “Just a stomach bug, but I needed the secret Antilles’ magic chicken soup. Which, incidentally, is what’s for dinner, give me five more minutes.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, and I love how much garlic is in this recipe.” He ducked back into the kitchen.

She chuckled. “Can I help?”

“Absolutely not!” he called out.

She was reading economic reports when he finally emerged from the kitchen with two steaming bowls of soup.

“You know you don’t have to work right now,” he said, catching sight of her datapad.

“It’s background reading,” she said in her own defense.

“Turn it off,” he said. “You need both your hands.”

He settled the bowls on the coffee table and joined her on the couch. They ate in silence. Breha seemed to have forgotten her formal table manners; she was hungrier than she thought. She slurped it all down.

“You’re a pretty great cook, Bail Antilles Organa. I’m glad I married you.” Sated, she settled the empty bowl on the coffee table.

“There’s more in the kitchen,” Bail told her.

“I’m good, maybe later.” She pulled a blanket towards her and rested her head against his left arm.

“I’ll do the dishes in a bit,” Bail said. He pushed his empty bowl away and leaned back, and wrapped an arm around Breha.

They didn’t talk that night, not really. They knew their next steps, visiting doctors. For now, they just needed to get through this miscarriage, holding hands and taking comfort where they could. She relaxed into his body and let her mind drift away.

 

***

  
“I’m sorry this isn’t terribly dignified.”

“On the contrary, Breha, _everything_ we do is dignified.”

She laughed and he took her hand. This was so, so hard, but they were doing this together, and that was what was important. Bail would be leaving for Coruscant in a few days, but for now, they were still doing the first round of meeting with fertility experts. Today, Bail was leaving what the doctors euphemistically called “a deposit.” They’d howled at that in their apartments, it made it sound so much more like an investment than either of them were able to articulate or admit. Hence the laughter. Even though Breha knew the off-color jokes were a defense mechanism, she was comfortable with that. Anything to get through the tiny indignities she’d be punishing herself with since her first miscarriage.

The plan was that Bail was going to make several deposits, and the doctors were going to put everything under a powerful microscope and try and figure out why her body had miscarried twice. Normally this wouldn’t be cause for too much concern, but Breha was as anxious as the planet to have an heir, and she wanted answers. “We’re just going to look at the puzzle pieces,” the doctors kept saying. As if they didn’t know how this worked for humans. As if they could just find all the corner pieces, do up all the sides, all the middle pieces would fall into place.

And monitor her ovulation and inseminate Breha while Bail was off-world. The middle pieces. And ideally, the end result was a completed picture of a baby.

“We can keep trying when I’m home,” Bail said.

Breha didn’t mind, though, she hoped this plan would keep their sex life from becoming too much of a chore.

So she stayed in the waiting room with her datapad, sending communiques while Bail... deposited. It was one of those waiting rooms where everything was white to the point of hurting your eyes, steril and unforgiving. The perfection of the room seemed to be a judgement of the people who waited there, and for the reasons they might be seeking help.

Needless to say, Breha didn’t get a lot of work done.

After this appointment, they decided to go for a short trip into the mountains, one of the easier paths. They held hands along the trail, Breha watched as Bail absently picked star flowers. On their third water break, he had enough blossoms to make her a flower crown which she wore with more regal dignity than some of her metal tiaras. The blue pulled lovely shades out of her gray tunic.

“This is all terribly romantic,” she observed as they began walking again.

“We could've gotten a picnic basket, like on Hesperidium. If we’d planned better.”

“I don’t mind being spontaneous, sometimes,” she said.

“I know, but I’m still hungry and all I have is a ration bar. Shall we go back?”

“Probably. It will be dark soon anyway. I’d hate for a search party to be organized.”

They turned around on the path and made their way back down the mountainside.

“You know, Breha, you can tell me anything.”

“Of course. I’m sorry about... earlier.”

He squeezed her hand. “And Anla and Miko, and your sister and mine, they all would fall over themselves helping you if I can’t get to you fast enough. I’m on my way, but they’re closer.”

She leaned in to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I know you worry about using the planet’s resources, but you can ask for help. Your people love you, they know you’re not taking anything away from them. It’s okay to admit we need help.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Together they entered Aldra and made their way to the palace. For the first time, Breha felt comfortable with the help they were getting.

The last few days with Bail ran together -- results started coming back from their tests and exams. No bad news, fortunately, but further observation would be needed, especially when Breha became pregnant again.

“It’s possible. You’ve conceived twice on your own so far,” the experts said hopefully.

Their hope was a comfort.

“Keep me posted,” Bail said, before he stepped aboard the Tantive III to return to Coruscant.

She promised to do so and kissed him goodbye on the landing platform. After returning to Aldra Palace, she called Anla. “Feel like sparring?”

It really was surprising how quickly Anla could get to the palace when she put her mind to it.

“Writer’s block?” she teased.

“Oh, leave it. This is probably good for the block. How about you? What’s with these mysterious illnesses you and Bail keep coming down with?”

Breha felt her face fall, she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Anla’s face went from teasing to concern instantly. She jumped up and wrapped her friend up in a hug.

“Kriff, Breha, what’s wrong?”

“We miscarried, the doctor visits were to fertility experts.”

“Okay,” Anla said, rubbing a hand over Breha’s back in soothing circles.

“They don’t have any answers yet,” Breha sniffed back tears. Anla’s arms tightened around her.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean anything, it was thoughtless. I thought you just wanted to fool around.”

“No, you couldn’t have known,” Breha said. “Besides, it’s part of why I called you. I wanted to tell you, and I wanted you to help me show my body who’s boss.” After the battery of tests and exams, after two attempts to grow a baby, she had to feel like she could control something about herself. This seemed like an excellent option. She didn’t worry about Anla hurting her, what was physical discomfort compared to the heartbreak of two lost children that had been so wanted?

Anla held Breha at arm’s length. “Damn straight. Whatever you need.”

They chose their weapons, heavy wooden swords that would be great for beating out of their own sadness, feelings of insecurity, feelings of being stuck.

“We’re gonna get really tired,” Anla said. “And then we’re going down to raid your wine cellar, and then we’re going to get really drunk.”

“I love the sound of that,” Breha agreed, putting on her helmet. “Don’t you dare hold back. _En guard_!”

The friends clashed at each other, the thwacks of the wooden swords echoing around the room. They screamed their frustration at each other, delivered fearsome blows that would no doubt lead to nasty bruises, and sweated through their clothes and onto their pads. Breha cried three times but did not slow down once, and neither yielded until both had nearly collapsed from exhaustion.

“I’m out of shape,” panted Anla.

“Yeah. Maybe water before the wine?” Breha suggested.

“That’s probably wise, your Grace.”

“Oh, shut up,” Breha said, throwing a glove at her friend.

“Are you challenging me to a duel?” Anla teased, still breathless. She picked the glove off her face and waved it around.

“Yes, and the weapon is alcohol,” Breha struggled to her feet. She peeled off her chest pad.

“I thought I picked the weapon?” She held up her hands and Breha obliged, pulling her friend to her own feet.

“Not today,” Breha insisted.

“Fair enough,” Anla agreed. “Lead on, Queen Breha! To the wine cellar! Beat me at your game of cups.”

“I intend to,” Breha promised. Anla followed her down to the wine cellars, where they filled a large crate with bottles and dragged them back up to Breha’s apartments. She let her guest shower first, drinking down water as fast as she dared before her turn in the ‘fresher. When Breha was clean again, her hair neat and salve applied to the bruises that were blossoming on her skin, she came back out to find Anla halfway through the first bottle.

“This is some good stuff, Breha, I need to come to more state dinners.”

“I keep telling you, they’re not all bad,” Breha said.

They collapsed tiredly on the couch and managed to polish off the first bottle before they both fell into sleep. Breha’s last thoughts were how grateful she was for Bail, for Anla, and the rest of her support network. Asking for help wasn’t selfish after all. Breha’s body was aching, but it had been worth it.

Her dreams were of herself in her gray dresses, bruises on her heart, and following the sound of a laughing child through Aldra Palace.


	12. wee skipping high-heeled flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crisis on Coruscant has a ripple effect on Alderaan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to mrstater for her continued feedback, she's a gem. <3
> 
> The title comes from (what else?) an e.e. cummings poem, [your little voice].

“Explain it again. Who’s blowing up what planet? And how, exactly?”

“I’ll try,” Bail said tiredly. He leaned closer to the datapad’s camera. “But the details are a bit fuzzy. About six months ago, Ashaar Khorda, a revolutionary from Annoo, tried to take over his planet. His rebellion was put down, and he fled Annoo.” He was still in his office, she could see the formal artwork behind him. He usually went to his flat to call her, but today was clearly a long one.

“With you so far,” Breha said, twisting a braid in her hands. For her part, she was on the couch in her apartments, curled under a blanket. Winters were long on Alderaan, especially if your palace was nestled into the mountains.  

“Okay. Apparently he’s stolen a Force-powerful statue called the Infant of Shaa which... has the ability to destroy a planet?”

“I’m sorry, you lost me again. How can a statue have the power to destroy a whole planet?”

“I... don’t know. When your Jedi protector arrives, maybe they can explain it so it makes sense?” Bail suggested.

“Bail, it’s never going to make sense. You can’t destroy a whole planet, no one can. It’s a _planet_.” She was adamant on this, not in the least fearful. He’d opened this holo call with a plea she not worry about him, but she wasn’t worried. Irritated, yes. Very, very irritated. But a statue couldn’t destroy Coruscant, especially not with a name like the _Infant of Shaa_.

“All I know is Chancellor Palpatine is taking this threat seriously. Losing Coruscant would be unthinkable. And Khorda’s made threats against Coruscant, Corellia, and Alderaan.”

“So a Jedi protector is going to save each planet.”

Bail shrugged. “I hope it won’t come to that. We’re not allowed to leave Coruscant until the threat is contained--something about showing no fear in the face of terrorism.”

“And what am I supposed to tell Alderaan about the Jedi Master that’s arriving in a few hours?”

“Well, the thing about Jedi is they’re supposed to be more or less invisible security.”

Breha rolled her eyes.

“...Not counting the invasion of Naboo, I guess,” Bail continued.

“I guess,” Breha teased. “So, you’re a hostage already, I’m about to be. Any chance Khorda’s about to be apprehended?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Bail admitted.

“Well if you’re still on Coruscant over break, I’m going to hunt him down myself,” Breha said.

“He wouldn’t even stand a chance against you, B. That’s how tough you are.”

“And how scary I am when needlessly separated from you,” she said with a smile. “Now what else have you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Nute Gunray is facing trial again next week, I’ve been working with the Naboo prosecution.”

“Bail Organa, star witness.”

“Something like that. One of them, anyway. It’ll nice to see Queen Amidala again, we barely got to see her at the wedding. What have you been working on?”

Breha slumped down on her couch. “Not much. As soon as the Jedi arrives, I’m dragging them off to Belleau-a-Lir. Deara has a new statue dedication and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“That sounds nice. Send me some images, I’d love to see what she’s creating.”

“I promise I will. What are your sisters up to? I haven’t heard from them in awhile.”

“You should talk to Miko then, too. Yesterday, they hired Rouge to their political consultant team.”

“Oh, they’ll be brilliant together!”

“I think so. Celly and Tia are thinking of setting up a nonprofit together to bring some of the traditional Alderaani art to the galaxy at large.”

“Now there’s an idea. Let them know I’m happy to help when they’re ready.”

“I will, but they’re still in planning stages,” Bail said.

“Of course.” She yawned. “Get some rest, B, you look tired,” she accused.

“I will, I’m just making some notes on this bill we’re writing, nothing too exciting.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep at your desk,” she said.

“No chance, this chair is so uncomfortable. I don’t dare get a nicer one, how will I stay awake during boring meetings?”

“You can hide candy in your desk drawer? That’s what my mother used to do.”

Bail laughed. They let silence fall between them, neither of them ready to end the call, content just to be together, even though they were parsecs apart. It didn’t matter how many star systems were between them, she still felt close to him.

“I miss you, B. Come home soon.”

“I will,” he promised. “Even if I have to sneak off this planet, I’ll be home in three weeks.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“See you then,” he replied.

She ended the call and pushed her comm away from her. Tucked under her blanket, she scrolled through her datapad images of the two of them. She missed Bail so much when he was gone, six standard weeks in Coruscant, two standard weeks at home. She’d managed to visit him on Coruscant a handful of times but even then, he was working and couldn’t make as much time for her as either of them would like. She knew their arrangement would be hard, but she couldn’t have known it would be this hard.

Breha traced her fingers over his handsome face, in all the images she took of him when they were together. Not posed in anyway, completely candid. She loved the pictures of him sleeping on their honeymoon. The sailboat had felt like isolation, in the coziest way possible, the light reflecting off the water and bounced around their cabin by portholes had done magic things to all of her images, casting them in a nostalgic light even before she pressed the camera button.

Evidence, that’s what these pictures were. She often scrolled through them after their conversations. She wondered if he did the same. But then, he continued to write her love letters. They arrived by diplomatic couriers at odd times, boxes stuffed full of paper and ink - more evidence. _I love you_ , they all said. _I love you I love you I love you_.

And _I miss you_.

 

***

 

Breha would have been lying if she said she hadn’t been expecting Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan learner, but her face was impassive when Master Eeth Koth bowed before her in her office.

“Welcome to Alderaan,” she said in her best Queen voice.

He was tall for his species, an Iridonian Zabrak from the planet Nar Shaddaa. He was very handsome, with dark skin and lighter horns, and deep brown eyes that reminded her a bit of Bail’s. Perhaps that’s why the Jedi Council had sent him, the eyes might remind her of her husband’s. Kenobi had blue eyes.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he replied in a smooth voice. “I hope my presence here will be unfelt by your people.”

“We shall certainly do our best. And it’s Your Grace, or even ma’am. I’m a satellite to the people of Alderaan, not its master.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“Yes. Can I offer you lunch? I’m afraid I’m going to have to rush you off your feet this afternoon. We’re headed to Belleau-a-Lir to visit my sister.”

“Lunch would be most welcome, ma’am.”

“Excellent! I’ll join you,” she said, coming around her desk. “I hope you won’t find us too formal here. Alderaan is a Core World, but we don’t stand on nearly as much ceremony as Coruscant. I often walk through the streets without a retinue and no one ever troubles me.”

“Alderaan sounds very peaceful, ma’am.”

“It is,” she agreed, leading him through to the public dining room. “I’m very lucky. But we work hard, all of us, to cling to stability that our planet sometimes lacks. You should know all about peace, Master Jedi.”

“It’s true, the Jedi Order prides itself on being peacekeepers.”

They sat next to each other at the small table that had been set for them, a light lunch before the journey to the city of Belleau-a-Lir.

“But you have a lightsaber,” she challenged.

“Master Kenobi says you know your way around a blade.”

Breha shrugged. “Blades of steel - Alderaan traditions die hard, I’m afraid. My mother taught me. But I have never... taken a life with my blades,” she said carefully.

“I hope you never have to,” Master Koth said.

“As do I.” Breha picked up a spoon and tucked into her soup. After a few bites, she said, “But then, Alderaan has long been a planet of pacifists.

“A noble history,” he agreed.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but... how can you claim to be peacekeepers and not have a goal of pacifism? And how can one statue be powerful enough in the Force to destroy an entire planet?”

He smiled broadly. “You are interested in Jedi Philosophies?”

“I am interested in threats against innocents, even if I believe those threats to be largely empty.”

“The Jedi did not create the _Infant of Shaa_. The Force, for us, is a Force for creation, not destruction. Even the beginning of the Galaxy, the explosion that made everything possible, was the Force, pushing out and making beings so the Universe could know itself.”  

“And when you have to destroy a person?”

“Jedi act through the Force. If another being threatens innocents, as you say, the Force guides us to the problem and will hopefully guide us to the best solution. Which sometimes, yes, leads to taking of life.”

“It sounds very complicated,” Breha said. She took another bite to give her a few minutes before answering.

“It’s why Jedi devote their entire lives to the Order,” Eeth Koth said. “From a very young age, we are taught to listen to the Force inside us.”

“I heard through my husband that Master Kenobi’s padawan learner was much older, is that true?”

It was Koth’s turn to take a few bites to plan his next words. “Anakin Skywalker is a ...special case. It’s true that we don’t usually take learners as old as he was. The Force is strong with him, and because of the circumstances of his birth, he could not have been identified at the usual stages of development. But he is learning.”

“And flourishing?” Breha insisted.

“I hope so. Time will tell, and the Force will, too.”

They finished their lunch in companionable silence before they were led back to her landing pad.

The journey to Belleau-a-Lir was short and uneventful. Master Koth followed the retinue like a shadow that no one commented on. In the main square of the city, a crowd gathered despite the lightly falling snow, and on a dais, Breha sat alongside her sister while speeches were made. Breha had not wished to speak any words at this event, hoping the spotlight would fall on Deara. Finally, the unveiling came, Deara Organa pulled the sheet off with a dramatic flourish scattering clumps of white snowfall.

All eyes were on Deara and her fabulous kinetic sculpture, of the legendary Lucci Sutal. “He’s the ideal public servant,” she told the crowd, watching the statue as he beat his sword into a plowshare, over and over again. The crowd was in love with the handsome elder statesman, giving up his power for a quiet retirement. “May we all answer Alderaan’s call when she need us, and rest when she doesn’t,” Deara concluded to wild applause.

“He’s wonderful, Deara!” Breha said when her sister came back to her seat.

Deara sketched a little curtsy. “Thank you, Breha. You know, for some reason, I had mother in my head when I made it, taking the hammer to that sword while I was sculpting, trying to get it to work, I felt like I was her, forcing lessons into us.”

Breha laughed.

“Come back to my place, I’ll tell you all about it,” Deara invited as the crowd swirled around them. Breha was delighted to accept.

The ride to Deara’s flat was short, and she drove her speeder quickly through the traffic.

“So what’s with the Jedi shadow?” Deara asked while speeding around a corner.

“Don’t lose him, Dear, he just arrived from Coruscant.”

“Are you in some sort of danger?” Deara asked.

“I don’t think so, but the Chancellor found it necessary,” Breha said, and then she explained about the Khorda crisis. “But you’re not to notice Master Koth.”

“Well he’s going to have to stop being so damned handsome, then!” she crowed, putting her foot down and running a light that had just turned red. Koth had to run the light too, nearly causing an accident. Breha was glad they were close to Deara’s flat.

Master Koth waited in the corridor on a chair while Breha visited with her sister in her flat/studio.

“So, Lucci Sutal....” Breha began over a cup of caf.

“Yes, like I said. It seemed like a good option. I wasn’t trying to be political, but you know.” Deara shrugged.

“Duty above everything,” Breha agreed.

“Yeah. I know you worry about being self-centered, or being perceived as such, but I can tell you, I’ve never met anyone who didn’t think you were doing a good job,” Deara said.

“Well, there’s one thing I’m failing miserably at,” Breha said. “Deara, I....”

Deara looked alarm at the sudden emotion on her sister’s face. “Darling, what could you possibly be failing at?”

Breha hid her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “You should know, I’ve miscarried twice, once before the wedding, once after. I haven’t conceived since. I’m currently a medical mystery.”

Deara slid off her stool and came around the table to hug her sister. “Breha, I’m so sorry, I wish you'd told me sooner. I wish I knew what to say.”

“I’m trying so hard, I love children, and Bail and I.... we were so happy those weeks, so full of promise.”

“Of course you were! Oh, Breha....”

“And I promised you that you’d never be queen....”

“Okay, stop that this instant. You cannot possibly worry about me right now. That kind of added pressure isn’t going to help.”

“I know,” Breha said. She had somehow ended up with her face in her sister’s neck.

“And don’t keep this information from me. You can tell me anything. And if all else fails, you know I’m fine being the _dauphine_. If I end up being Queen too, well. Mother educated us both. Didn’t I just make a statue about a man who answered a call to be a leader? I’d be a pretty terrible Alderaanian if I ignored that.”

“I suppose so.”

“I know all the symbols, Kista could run the monarchy on her own at this point. We probably just get in her way.”

Breha sniffed, and managed a watery sort of chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’d better give you a tour of the studio. I keep it pretty cold in there, so in a minute, it’ll look to your Jedi protector like you never were crying.”

“And my queenly mask will be back in place.”

Deara took Breha’s hand with a small smile. “Quite.”

 

***

  


Breha was reading some paperwork regarding a labor dispute in Governor Mai’s district when Kista buzzed and requested an audience on behalf of Master Koth.

“Yes, of course, send him straight in,” she said, putting her datapad in sleep mode.  

She stood when he entered, and he bowed when he reached her desk.

“Your Grace, I’ve just had word from the Jedi Council. It seems the terrorist Ashaar Khorda has been apprehended by a pair of bounty hunters on Coruscant. The danger to you, Coruscant, and Corelia is over.”

“Well, that’s good news. Thank you, Master Koth. I imagine your stay with us has ended?” she said, and gestured for him to sit.

He obliged and she sat behind her desk.  

“Yes, I’m to return to Coruscant tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, I’m sure you have a great many things to do. Would you like us to arrange transport for you?”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I already have a ride home.”

“Well then, that appears to be settled.” She took a deep breath. She didn’t exactly know this Jedi very well, even if Jedi could be known on a personal level by anyone outside their order.

“We’ve enjoyed your company this last week,” she said. “If there is anything I can offer this last night in Aldra, please let me know. Dinner out? A show? A visit to the mountains, perhaps?”

“Actually,” he said leaning forward slightly. “I heard you had a pair of Wismew Masa dueling blades?”

Breha felt a smile bloom on her face. “It would be an honor and a privilege to cross blades with you, Master Koth.”

“Please, call me Eeth.”

“Very well, then you must call me Breha.”

“It would be an honor and a privilege,” he returned.

Satisfied, she led him down the twisting passageways to her training rooms.


	13. because I’ve travelled all alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breha snatches happiness wherever she can find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to mrstater who went above and beyond for this chapter, while dealing with some stuff in her personal life. I tried to let her off the hook! I swear! Of course, it would have been a much weaker chapter without her help. Any mistakes remain my own. 
> 
> The title, naturally, comes from an e.e. cummings poem, "[perhaps it is to feel strike]"

Seeing your partner two weeks out of eight could perhaps lead to tensions in even the strongest of matches, without the added pressures of ruling and representing a planet and trying to conceive. Compartmentalizing was something Breha did often; Bail’s “deposits” and her inseminations were separate from daily conversations with her husband. Their work together as Queen and Viceroy were isolated from their time spent in their apartments or with their families and friends. Breha knew this skill from her childhood, and she was careful to teach it to Bail. If their marriage was to survive, they had to have strict rules and routines to help nurture their passion and respect.

And so three years passed.

All three of Bail’s sisters had married. Breha and Bail still frequented the Opera in Aldra, often with Miko and their partner Talohn Retwin, or Anla and her wife, Sangha Quee.

But for the past two weeks, Breha found herself on the deck of the Antilles’ sailboat. They could buy their own, but Bail and Breha liked to recapture the magic and the coziness of their bridal trip, and Bail’s parents rarely used it anymore.

They sailed past one of the lake’s islands, home of one of the many famous lighthouses -- the waters of Lake Gichi were treacherous for her sudden shallows -- which, at that moment, warned them away. Bail kept an eye on the weather, which looked like it might turn, while Breha looked for a cove or inlet to shelter in.

“Can we shelter at the lighthouse?” Breha called out to her husband. She spied a jetty, and though the visibility in the water was terrible, Bail knew this lake.

“It’s unoccupied, automated,” Bail shouted back over the rising winds. “There’d be no help there.”

“Well we’re not going to get much help anywhere else,” Breha yelled back.

Bail nodded. “Keep a sharp eye out!” he said, turning the rudder.

Breha watched the water carefully, but Bail had turned straight into the jetty, betting on deeper waters until they were safe behind the breakwall. Breha jumped onto the dock and Bail tossed her line after line to hold them fast, but left slack enough for the boat have room to rock in the slip. He dropped an anchor for good measure, and then Breha set up safety buoys. Bail double-checked that the sails were secure, and finally he literally battened down the hatch.

They beat the rain into their cabin, locking it behind them.

“We should be reasonably well protected,” Bail said. “That breakwall has been there a hundred years. It’ll be there a hundred more.”

It was cold and damp in the cabin, Breha set some water to boil. “Cocoa?” she asked him.

“Sure, and something to keep us warm?”

She laughed, turned around and plucked up a bottle of Abrax cognac. “Will this do, B?”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing the back of her neck, raising goosebumps. “I’m afraid we’re in for a bumpy night.”

It was tight in their little galley, two little burners, a small sink, a tiny refrigeration unit. Almost no space to speak of. Bail wrapped his arms around her middle, her back to his chest.

“Can I hope that’s a euphemism?” she said, leaning back.

He chuckled.

They ate a hurried supper, washed the dishes, and tucked themselves in the bunk underneath the main hatch, the better to watch the storm.

Even with the violence outside, Breha couldn’t feel anything but safe in his arms, watching waves toss themselves over the dock and onto the bow of their boat. They were rocked by wind and water, the storm so loud outside their portholes. They didn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. Breha watched the automated light of the signal wash over them through the hatch above them. Every ten seconds exactly, it was like a metronome. Breha’s thoughts drifted over their bridal trip, for which the weather had been perfect, and back to that night at the opera with Anla and Miko, _The Glass Sea_. How the lighthouse-keeper protected her world from the dangers of her coastal reef.

“Are we lighthouse-keepers?” she asked. “Just for tonight?”

Bail tightened his embrace. “You mean, casting light to keep people away?”

She smiled in the darkness. “Exactly. Burning too bright.”

He traced a fingertip across her breasts. “Hmmm,” he considered. “To return to your earlier euphemism....”

“I thought it was yours?’ She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Bail,” she said, the boat rocked them as she kissed him deeply. Their lovemaking had never failed to satisfy her, even after all these years, their intimacy deepened and still surprised her.

He notched his fingers against her spine and rolled her on top of him. In moments, they had managed to shed their clothing and she was pressing kisses against his neck, feeling it when he moaned.  

“Breha,” he said, wrapping his hands around her ribs, his thumbs sliding under her breasts. “I want...”

He sounded far away, even next to her ear, the storm outside was so loud. The boat rocked violently then and when they stilled for a moment, Breha nodded. She had heard the desire in his voice, the request. She propped herself up on her knees, braced her elbows against the low ceiling in their cabin, and she carefully slid on top of him, working with the rhythm he was already eager to set, without letting the boat jar her. His hand reached up and around her center, toying with her. Light sparked behind her eyes as lightning crackled above the glass of the hatch.

His hands were warm against her, and she moaned as he slid into her more fully. Carefully, she allowed her hips to set a new rhythm, his left hand coming to support her torso as he seemed to drink her in. She couldn’t make out precisely what he was saying, other than the suggestion of filthy four letter words turned into puffs of air.

“Bail,” she said, so close, the storm crashing around her and in her. He was going so slowly and she dared not move her elbows in case she slid off of him. Looking down, she saw his eyes fluttered closed. It was sweet torture as she waited for his thumb and then suddenly it was all too much. She screamed her pleasure, swallowed by the wind. With the next wave she became unmoored and tumbled backwards, and Bail laughed while she panted, unable to move from the orgasm pulsing through her like a living thing. Her heart was beating so fast and her legs were jelly as he pulled himself up and over her, kissing her and pushing inside of her again, swallowing further moans.

The only thing Breha could hear was wind and waves, her body felt like it would never stop moving, cresting and breaking, unsure where they ended and the storm began. He didn’t falter in their new tempo, his fingers dipping down again. The violence of the storm only made her feel more tender towards Bail, and she traced a finger over his lips and reached up for an almost innocent kiss, and then she felt him twitch inside her. He was so close, and she sketched her hand down his back and squeezed his bum. He shuddered and his moan was lost to the storm as he came in her. It was enough to coax another orgasm from her, and they collapsed, unmoving, batted around in their sailboat like bath toys in the great lake.

 

***

 

Alas, their visit to the stormy lake had ended, but rather than separate from him immediately, Breha had taken an opportunity to visit Coruscant with him.

“I feel like I’m being spoiled,” Breha said, linking her arm around his and allowing him to lead her across plush carpets and ornate corridors.

“Oh?” he replied, matching his stride to hers.

“Three whole weeks with you,” she said.

He smiled. “I do love it when you visit me. It’s a such a cold, sunless place,” he said, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

It wasn’t far to his box. Or disc. Everyone had a different name for the senate seats. Bail escorted Breha into a place of pride and settled in beside her, his staff filing in behind.  

It was Padmé Amidala’s first day in the Galactic Senate, and Breha wanted to be there for the younger woman. There had been talk of Naboo amending its constitution so she might remain Queen, but Amidala had stepped down. Queen Jamilia, her successor, had immediately appointed Amidala to the Senate. Bail and Breha had been delighted by the move.  

“It was smart to appoint her,” Breha said happily. “She’ll fight so hard for Naboo.”

“And hopefully this will give Naboo more credibility in the Galactic Courts,” Bail observed. After three trials, Nute Gunray was _still_ the Viceroy of the Trade Federation, which was maddening to Bail and his allies. Amidala mostly refused to address it directly, placing her faith in justice. There was another trial coming up, and they were trying not to pin all his hopes to it.

Chancellor Palpatine called the session to order. There wasn’t a swearing in at this level; each Senator had an oath to their planet, and all served the Senate in good faith. Padmé Amidala didn’t draw attention to herself. Instead, she listened, scribed notes on a datapad, asked questions of her aids. It looked like Bail’s first day, so many years ago now.

Mostly, Breha scrolled through her own datapad until the lunch break. _The thing about the Senate_ , she thought, glancing over at Bail’s notes, _is so many of these Senators like to hear themselves talk, but they have nothing to say._ She checked the social sharing platforms on Alderaan. Apparently the pop singer Kiratta had a new single out; Breha made a mental note to listen to it later. _The thing about being Queen is, you get really good at faking interest when things go on too long._ Her stomach growled.

Finally, finally, everyone stopped talking, long enough for Palpatine to call a recess. The Organas hurried to Amidala’s box.

“Congratulations, Senator Amidala!” Breha said, throwing herself into the box and taking the new Senator’s hand warmly. “You survived your first session,” she half joked.

“Thank you,” Amidala smiled. “It was so nice of you to come out for it.”  

She and Breha hugged, Bail looked on amused.

“Are you hungry, Amidala?”

“You can call me Padmé,” she replied. “Unless I’m to call you Organa? Organas One and Two?”

Bail and Breha laughed.

“It’s Bail and Breha,” Bail confirmed. “Forgive me, I’ve just always liked your chosen royal name.”

“Well, I’m keeping it, rather than revert back to Naberrie. It’s how people know me,” Padmé said, gathering her things.

Breha took Bail’s arm and the trio swept into the corridor. Their progress through the building was slow, many people wanted to congratulate Padmé, some flagged down Bail to discuss legislation he was working on. But eventually, they made it outside.

“Now, what do you feel like eating?” Breha asked. “Our treat.”  

They ended up at a place that served flatbread sandwiches with whatever toppings you liked, the more unusual the better.

“I’ve never ordered an ingredient they didn’t have,” Bail said. “Legal ingredients,” he amended. There were spices and there were _spices_.

“The benefits of a Core world, I imagine,” Padmé observed. “A lot more trade coming in and out.”

“Maybe so,” said Breha, “but I can’t imagine anything would make womp rat palpable.”

“Extreme hunger?” Bail suggested.

“Yes, maybe desperation,” Padmé laughed.

The trio didn’t order anything quite so far-fetched. Padmé ordered a vegetable medley, Breha treated herself to nerf-sausage and onion, Bail indulged in his favorite Corellian cheeses.  He couldn’t stay long - he had another series of committee meetings that afternoon.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he paid the check. “It won’t be long before you’re swamped with committee work too. No need to feel jealous.”  Padmé and Breha laughed him out the door.

Breha invited Padmé back to Bail’s flat, and Padmé, unable to face unpacking and decorating a Senatorial apartment that day, agreed to come along. “I told the staff to do what they think is best with the space. I didn’t go to art school,” Padmé said tiredly.

Breha smiled. “If they ask, you can tell them you were getting ideas from Bail’s. We might even have some swatches lying around.”

They did not look at swatches. Breha opened a bottle of Toniray and the pair got tipsy on the champagne.

“This stuff is gorgeous,” Padmé said, sipping her third glass.

“Isn’t it? I’ll send you some. It’s the best part of living on Alderaan. Or one of them. The grapes on Alderaan have a strange growing cycle, the climate is so unstable. No one can get them to taste like ours, anywhere in the galaxy.”

“And it’s teal, looks amazing in a flute.”

Breha laughed. “Quite.”

Conversation oozed around from different topic, serious to silly. Breha pulled up Kiratta’s new single and they listened to the bubbly song a full six times, just because.

Sipping her fourth glass, Breha asked delicately, “So... Shiraya. Is she also your patron of fertility?”

“Shiraya created all things on Naboo, so, yes. I know people who have left her offerings in the hopes of getting pregnant,” Padmé said just as gently.

Breha was thirty-four years old and had no children. Padmé was no fool, she knew her friends were trying desperately to have a child. This conversation didn’t surprise her as they melted into Bail’s very comfortable couch. The alcohol took the edge off the conversation, but Padmé, not wanting to say something she might regret later, set down her Toniray.

“I have a sister. She’s technically in line, but she’s never wanted the crown, or children. I feel like I’m failing her, failing Alderaan.”

“I am sure you are not failing your planet,” Padmé said. “I was never in quite your situation, but I still faltered, still felt lost sometimes. All Queens do. You will find a solution. And your husband will help you. Helping you, serving you...I swear it's encoded in his DNA.”

Breha smiled. “Sweet Bail. It was something of a scandal, our relationship. His mother served as Governor before him, and the Antilles family have a lot of power on Alderaan. We had to tread carefully so as not to offend the other major Houses.”

“I don’t know how you managed that balancing act,” Padmé said. “It would have driven me insane, trying to hide that.” Her eyes were glassy and distant. Breha recognized the effects of the teal champagne.

“Well, we weren’t very good at it,” admitted Breha.

“No, I suppose not,” said Padmé. “But it worked out.”

“Yes. But nothing’s ever perfect, is it?” Breha mused.

Padmé didn’t have an answer to that.

“What kind of offerings are left to Shiraya? For fertility, I mean,” Breha interrupted the stillness. She wanted answers.

“Usually you leave out a dish of water on her altar, and you put Rominaria seeds in the water, and when they germinate, you plant them in the temple garden.”

“Do you think you could do that for me? Next time you’re home, I mean,” Breha asked. She didn’t look at Padmé now. She studied the bubbles in her flute like they were the most interesting things in the galaxy.

“Of course, Breha, if you think it will help.”

“I’m desperate,” Breha admitted.

“Desperate enough to eat a womp rat?” Padmé teased, elbowing Breha gently.

“Ha! If you think it will help,” Breha returned. “Don’t tell Bail I asked you. I feel strange about it.”

“Well, if it takes some of the pressure off of you, knowing there’s another goddess in your corner, that’s only going to help, right?”

Breha smiled. “So they tell me.”

“The real question is, how hungover will I be for my second day of sessions, and how will that look?”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Breha said. “What do you think the Senate does? Galas, galas, galas. Bail is almost certainly drinking at his committee meetings. If nothing else, I’m helping you build up your tolerance!”

“Thank you?”

“Just remember to never ever mix your liquors. Pick a drink and stick to it, and then plenty of water when you get home. Also, you should have had something heavier for lunch. Cheese is especially good, it soaks up the alcohol. And if a being that’s physically larger than you offers a drink from their homeworld, remember that it will hit you twice as hard. Watch out for that.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I would never lie to you, and remember what Bail had for lunch?” Breha finished her Torinray.

Padmé’s head dropped into her hands. “I have so much to learn!”

Breha rubbed Padmé’s back. “Don’t worry. Lesson one will stick after your hangover tomorrow.”

“Helpful.”

“It’s this practicality that will help you survive your term,” Breha insisted. “Now, why don’t I call your retinue for a ride home? And I’ll see if I can find some paint colors or something to bring back as evidence.”

“You’re going to make a great mom, Breha,” Padmé assured her friend as she stumbled in the kitchen for a glass of water while they waited for her ride.

“From your lips to the goddess’ ears,” Breha muttered under her breath as she entered the frequency into her comm.


	14. —and frailties of dimension to occur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail and Breha hope and hope, even when their hopes are dashed. Meanwhile, Padmé leads the fight for Galactic justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need you to know that mrstater really goes above and beyond, week after week. She's amazing. 
> 
> And e.e. cummings once again titled this chapter, "[if learned darkness from our searched world]". Thanks, buddy.

“As you know, Your Grace, we’ve been monitoring you very closely,” Doctor Luha said. She laced her fingers over her desk and studied the Queen and the Viceroy. They were in her office, a warm, cozy space, much different than the clinical feel of the rest of this facility.

Bail’s hand was on Breha’s elbow. They sat in very comfortable chairs, but these consultations usually ended in disappointment, bad deposits, worse inseminations, a diagnosis of a “bicornuate” heart-shaped womb that made things more difficult. A triple threat of failure. But Dr. Luha looked calm and there was even a slight surprise on her face as she continued.

“And I’m delighted to say that you have conceived!”

Breha tipped her head back in the chair, overcome with emotion. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Bail took her hand and kissed it. They would celebrate later, but surely this room had seen such a range of feelings. _Hope_. Breha had come in here with it. Padmé had sent her a holo image of a small Rominaria plant in a temple garden.

She and Bail smiled through the rest of the appointment, and Breha copied all the future appointment dates into her datapad. Moving appointments around was normally Kista’s job, and she’d surely note the changes. But Kista would be savvy enough not to mention it until Breha did.

Bail hardly spoke during the appointment, just a few questions here and there. Both of them mostly were just taking in the news, news they never could have expected to receive.  

“Guess the gossip holos were wrong,” said Bail, helping her into the speeder. They'd driven themselves, not a completely unusual sight for the Queen and her Viceroy.

“I’m afraid to say that might be a given. I’ll trust a physician over a journalist when it comes to my health.”

The gossip holos and observers on the social sharing platforms had given themselves over to speculating on when the Queen might have a child. No one was concerned, as Queen Bara hadn’t borne children until she was in her forties. This was fine with Breha -- the less pressure, the better. All the same, her thirty-five years was later than she and Bail planned.

“Such a wise Queen,” Bail observed, coming around the other side of the speeder. He turned it on and put it into gear.  

“And I’ll give her this, Dr. Luha was never anything but completely optimistic. Regardless, I’m still feeling a bit...”

“Blaster shy?” Bail supplied. He pulled into traffic.

“Something like that,” Breha agreed. She gently rested her hand over her abdomen.  

“Do you feel different, B?”

“Not at all,” she admitted. “But let’s think positive, nurturing thoughts at my uterus all the same.”

He laughed, not at her. She could hear the delight in his voice. “Absolutely,” he replied.  

“Can we stop at a stationary shop? I’d like to buy a new diary,” Breha said.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Bail agreed.

She never stopped a diary before the last page, but she didn’t want any of the previous attempts to touch this tentative thing. She wasn’t sure she trusted Padmé plant, after being burned twice by miscarriage. A new diary seemed like a good idea to her, and it would be something to show her child someday.

 

***

 

Bail didn’t really know what to do with his hands, sitting next to Padmé in the courtroom. It was a grand space, white and gold everywhere. Lawyers in ornate gold tunics conferred with each other, the prosecution on one side, the defense on the other.

The judge was in her chambers, deliberating. A verdict was expected any moment.

Padmé’s back was rigid, her hands were settled in her lap. Her focus was on the door to the chambers. Bail admired her restraint, his own nerves were making themselves known, and he worked to keep his fingers out of his hair.

This was the much anticipated fourth trial of the Trade Federation’s occupation of Naboo. Nine years had led them here, and three previous trials had not done anything for justice. Padmé remained optimistic; Bail had seen money change hands between all facets of the Galactic Government to expect a much different outcome. But he had hope. Padmé now had a powerful contingent of the Galactic Senate behind her, literally behind her in the uncomfortable seats of the courtroom.

Suddenly, lawyers and bailiffs scurried into place and then they were being told to rise for the honorable Judge Kavindra. Once she was seated, the rest of the courtroom followed suit. Kavindra, an extremely pale human woman with graying hair and steel eyes, drew out her datapad and began to read her decision.

“Nine years ago, nearly to the day, the prosecution, the planet of Naboo, was cut off from the Galaxy by means of a blockade. Many have testified on this account, including Senator Amidala, who served as Queen in those days.”

Padmé still did not move, though Kavindra nodded to her.

“However, as three of my honored colleagues agreed in previous cases, in subsequent days, the Trade Federation _was_ attacked by Naboo ‘Freedom Fighters', without the support of the Galactic Senate, and against the wishes of their own Senator Palpatine, now Chancellor Palpatine to a great loss of property damage for the Federation.”

“ _Kriff_ ,” was Bail’s only thought. “ _Here it bloody comes_.”

“Here we see a classic case of two wrongs not making a right.” Judge Kavindra set down her datapad and picked up her gavel. “After hearing all the evidence and revisiting the court records of the three previous trials, I decree the following: Because we cannot have the Trade Federation blockading planets in our Galactic System, they must reduce their standing droid army by whatever number the Chancellor feels appropriate. Both parties may make recommendations to the Chancellor and he will decide from there. And to the people of Naboo, enough Republic credits have been spent on these trials. I must insist that you press no further charges, any further cases will be seen as a nuisance and will not be considered by the Galactic Courts unless you can prove beyond reasonable doubt that the Trade Federation has not reduced its droid army by the demanded percentage.” Judge Kavindra slammed her gavel down. “Court adjourned.”

“ _Kriff, kriff, kriff_ ,” Bail thought. A step in the right direction, maybe. Depending on the Chancellor whom, despite being from Naboo, would not wish to look too harshly on the Federation lest he lose his seat.

Padmé said nothing as she got to her feet and charged out of the courtroom, her supporters trailing in her wake.  By the time Bail reached her, she was on the steps of the courtroom, halfway through what looked like a prepared statement.

“Today, Judge Kabindra has declared herself to be on the side of the bankers, on the side of the Trade Federation, rather than the side of the beings the Federation has harmed. Even now, I will not be convinced that I did wrong by boldly acting against them. Human and Gungan lives were at stake, which will always be more important than battle droids. Although I technically did not have the support of the Galactic Senate, I did my best to free my people. My record on Naboo is _spotless_. And while I am very disappointed in Judge Kavindra’s ruling today, particularly her statements that we will not be allowed to pursue this line of justice, I already have made an appointment with Chancellor Palpatine. I pray that he will not forget he is Nabooian and help protect the Galaxy from further tyranny under the fist of the Trade Federation. Thank you.”

She stepped back from the microphone droid.

“There,” she said to Bail. “We keep up the fight in the court of public opinion. And rest assured, I will be watching the Federation like a desert falcon. If I can prove they haven’t reduced their droid armies, there will be hell to pay.” She glanced around. “Also, perfect timing, leading the Senators outside when you did. That will look good on the holo-news. I didn’t have their support then; I certainly do now.” Her mouth was a grim line.

“What number are you going to suggest to the Chancellor?”

“Oh, I’m going to open with ninety percent reduction after the Loyalist Committee meeting this afternoon. The Trade Federation is meant to have treaties with words, not with ugly threats of occupation. They can have just enough for protection from assassins and rogues, but I’m not playing around. Beings died in the Battle of Naboo. The Gungans, my handmaidens risked their lives, Master Jinn was killed by a mysterious Sith lord. I haven’t forgotten. I will see justice done, even if it takes until my dying breath. Now come on, we have work to do.”

Bail nodded. Orn Free Taa, Mon Mothma, and Ask Aak were waiting for them. This decision would no doubt embolden those looking to flee the Republic, it was only a matter of time before Dooku’s defectors, as Breha called them, joined forces with the Federation. Padmé was right to lead the work today.

 

***

 

“I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’d better come home.”

Bail blinked a few times at the message from Breha - conflicting solar cycles sometimes made their transmissions oddly timed, but he was sure they were more or less on the same cycle at the moment. This had been sent at about three in the morning.

He canceled his meetings, made excuses for his absence, and within an hour, he was aboard the _Tantive III_. He tried not to pace, tried to leave Raymus alone to pilot, he even tried to work, but it was no use. He hadn’t heard from Breha since she had messaged him hours ago now. His hair was beyond help, he kept running his hands through it in a fit of nerves.

She was twenty-one weeks along; they’d passed the halfway point, had even offered a small announcement to family and friends. At twenty-four weeks they would make a statement to Alderaan. And now, _I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’d better come home_. A knot of anxiety had formed in Bail’s throat. This was their lucky number three. Even though none of the pregnancies thus far had progressed, they felt like parents, perhaps because they already supported so many lives. Bail felt so tender the first time around. He hadn’t known about the second pregnancy; Breha had hardly known herself. And this third, they were so hopeful, so happy when they passed the first trimester marker on the calendar.

Maybe it wasn’t the baby, maybe it was something else. He racked his brain, but the only thing in it was _I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’d better come home_.

The stars outside his window blurred together with his thoughts. Bail let his mind drift, and in that strange half thinking state, they arrived home on Alderaan. He didn’t talk to anyone on the landing pad, there wasn’t a real entourage to meet him. He walked the short distance into the palace, up all the stairs and through the corridors to their apartments.

She was curled up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of tea, looking utterly miserable.

“B,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied quietly.

In a moment he was across the rug, and tucking himself around her on the couch. “Okay. Now. What do you think is going on?”

“She did a test. Dr. Luha. A routine test.”

“And?” His arms tightened.

It came in a rush, the news from the appointment. “There’s... no brain activity, part of it’s _missing_ and...” She buried her face in his chest. “And her extremities have stopped developing and she’s not growing. And Luha says if she’s born, her life will be short and painful and, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what’s happening, and I failed her.”

He could feel his synapses firing, _Her?_ And _pain_ and _Breha’s indecision and hurt._ “First of all, you haven’t failed anyone. What did Dr. Luha suggest?”

“She’s ‘incompatible with life,’” Breha cried. “So we can help her now, or allow her to suffer later."

“What do you want to do?” Bail asked carefully, even though it sounded like her mind was made up.

“I want to help,” she replied in a quiet voice.

“Me too,” he replied.  “It’s not just her pain, it would prolong yours. And mine. I can’t watch you go through that,” he admitted. “It will hurt us too much.”

Neither of them moved for a long time, until Bail got up and brought back two glasses of Torinray. “To her,” he said, a quiet toast.

They spent a sleepless night in their bed, and visited Dr. Luha the next day.

Bail told his parents, his sisters, and Deara that they had lost the baby. He took a leave of absence to be with Breha while she recovered, while he recovered.

Deara responded by moving to Aldra within a week, setting up her new studio five miles from the palace. The press wrote a few think pieces, but no one guessed the real reason.

Bail also told Anla and Miko, who showed up with sweets and trashy holo-dramas, “Fresh from Corellia, they always have the best shows, I swear.”

As for the two of them, they started talking about other options. Dr. Luha, who heretofore had been a beacon of optimism, told them that Breha was reaching a point where putting her body through this might be dangerous. She had performed an autopsy on their daughter and found nothing, the baby just... wasn’t growing right.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have no answers for you.”

Miko dragged Breha to their favorite spa.

“Come on, you can’t let Anla beat you up,” Miko said, wrapping a cape around her unresisting form. “You’ve been through enough, time to let someone be gentle with your wonderful body.”

“It’s not so wonderful,” Breha said bitterly.

Miko put a finger over her lips. “Enough of that. Today is about feeling good.”

And damn if they weren’t right, Breha thought after a mud bath, massage, and session in the sauna. Miko was sprawled across a bench, hardly visible through the steam. They had a towel underneath them, but was otherwise naked.

“I was rereading the constitution and the other founding documents,” Miko said lazily.

“For fun?” Breha teased, tossing more water on the hot stones in the center of the room. She wrapped her towel more tightly around her middle. She didn’t want to look at her abdomen, which had betrayed her. Even the massage couldn’t fix everything.

“Very funny. I was looking it over, and there’s no mention of a bloodline, only the matrilineal name. So if you adopted a little girl, it would be perfectly constitutional for her to be the next Queen.”

Breha didn’t say anything. She let Miko’s words soak into her skin, however.  She reclined on the bench, tucking another towel under her head to cushion her thoughts. She let the idea flit through the steam. A few tears slipped out and back across her temples, into her hair.

She’d been singing lullabies to her abdomen, the _Mirrorbright_ lullaby, it had felt appropriate. Breha wondered what parts of the brain had been developing, if any. If her little girl could process sound. She never asked. Blood, she pondered. Blood, sweat, tears. It was all cleansing, wasn’t it?  And here was Miko, offering her another chance, a way out of the erratic cycle of the blood that betrayed her.

“I think I’m getting dehydrated, because I can’t decide if that makes sense,” Breha said.

Miko offered a small laugh. “Our sauna time is up in two minutes anyway. And then it’s time for our pedicures! And you can’t pick silver paint. Or gray.”

Breha smiled, even though Miko couldn’t see her. “What about yellow?”

“Perfect,” said Miko. “Bold, daring, and optimistic. Just like you.”

They sat in the most comfortable chairs ever, and were brought some fancy health drink that didn’t taste half bad. A lovely gentleman exfoliated her feet, massaged them with a foot cream, and painted her toenails the sunniest yellow they could find.

While he made small talk with her, seemingly nonplussed that he was giving his queen a pedicure, she thought more and more about what Miko had said. She’d have to speak with more constitutional lawyers, and first she had to see how Bail felt about it. But she had one more thing to do before any of it.

Coming home lotioned and potioned, she felt a little lighter than she had when Miko had dragged her out. She made her way slowly through the palace, into her apartments, and finally into her bedroom. She took the diary from her bedside table. It was the one she had purchased the day she had found out about the latest pregnancy, a gorgeous codex with sturdy leather bindings decorated with flowers. The pages were heavy paper, with gilded edges. She had anticipated rereading this many times and had splashed out on something that would hold up.

She took the diary and retraced her steps through the palace and out to the gardens, stopping in the kitchen. Out in the back where no one would see her, she found the spot where the gardeners burned brush. She dropped the book in the pit; it flopped open and the pages, not even a third filled, danced in the wind.

With a steady hand, she dropped a match right in the center of the pages, which began to curl inward toward the heat. The pages caught, almost one by one, and eventually the sound of the leather binding burning crackled around her.  She wasn’t sure when Bail joined her, but he was there, his hand on her elbow as they watched the diary turned to ash.

“Miko has another idea,” Breha said. “Dr. Luha will like it.”

“Will I?” Bail asked.

“I hope so,” she said.

He pulled her close. “Hope. It’s been awhile since you hoped.”

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. A few tears dropped onto his tunic, but she had meant it. She was hoping again. That was enough for now.


	15. death’s clever enormous voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is unrest in the Galactic Senate, and Bail, Breha, and Padmé had hoped to solve it diplomatically, but the mysterious Count Dooku seems to have other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attack of the Clones is a mess, but mrstater made sure this chapter was clean! 
> 
> (No hate, I love Episode II.)
> 
> Thanks to e.e. cummings for the poem "[the bigness of cannon]".

_Big day,_ Bail thought, shaving. He’d returned to Coursant the night before and rose early to fit in a shower before meeting up with Padmé and the rest of the Loyalist Committee. The fate of the Military Creation Act was to be decided in this session, after nearly a year of their committee working against it. They were afraid that the Separatists systems would perceive the Act as a threat and cause them to cut their tenuous ties to the Senate. And in the search for allies, create an understanding with the Trade Federation, the only major free agents at liberty to make such alliances.

Shaking his head and rinsing his razor, Bail reached for his aftershave lotion, applying it sparingly. His datapad buzzed, vibrating so hard it slipped off the counter and onto the floor.

 _“Kriff_ ,” he muttered, picking it up. It appeared to be fine. He opened the message from Breha.

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

Bail’s brain went blank. What could she mean?

It vibrated again, “IS PADMÉ ALIVE?”

“Uh,” he said. His eyes were wide as he turned on the full capabilities of his datapad, searching frantically and finding unconfirmed stories of an assassination attempt against Senator Padmé Amidala.

Two seconds later, he received a group comm from Padmé or her account, “I’m alive, see you at the meeting. Much to discuss.”

And then reports buzzed in that Padmé  survived; her handmaiden Cordé and two guards were victims of the attack.

Bail commed his wife what he knew with a promise of updates and then hurried to dress.  

_Big day, indeed._

Everyone was at Padmé’s office door when she swept in, every hair in place, her dress full and wide. She looked like she was anchoring herself to the floor, a show of strength, Bail knew.

“Come in,” she said, leading the Loyalist Committee into the inner office.

“Senator, are you alright?” “We’re so relieved you’re alive!” “Is there anything we can do?”

She waved off the platitudes.

“I’m sorry about Cordé,” Bail said quietly.

“Thank you, Senator Organa.” Padmé sat at her desk, the other members of the committee pulled up chairs to be close to her.  Bail settled next to Mon Mothma.

“I have asked for a conference with the Chancellor in thirty minutes, and it has been granted. He has gone back and forth on the Military Creation Act. I propose we get a firm answer out of him. If my assassination attempt is any indication, someone out there really wants this act to pass, and we must not give in to terrorism. Now, if you will all scroll to paragraph one hundred sixty-two...”

 _The unbelievable, unshakeable core of her_ , Bail thought, switching on his datapad. Leading freedom fighters at fourteen had given her a spine of steel.  They discussed their plan to make sure the bill wouldn’t pass, their talking points in their appeal to Palpatine. When Padmé’s alarm went off, she stood.

“Shall we?”

Murmurs of assent met her as everyone packed up and followed her from her office. It was a short walk from her office up to the Chancellor’s suite, and when they arrived, they found the Jedi Council already in attendance, in an emergency meeting with Chancellor Palpatine.

Master Yoda addressed Padmé first. “With you, the Force is, young Senator. To see you alive, brings warm feelings to my heart.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda," she said. "Do you have any idea who was behind the attack?”

Master Mace Windu responded, “Our intelligence points to disgruntled spice miners.”

“I think that Count Dooku was behind it,” Padmé told the Council.

The elder Masters stirred fretfully, in disbelief. This pronouncement surprised even Bail, but if they were trying to incite a war, what better way than to take out one of the strongest and most sympathetic voices against the Military Creation Act?

Master Windu did not agree. “You know, m'lady, Count Dooku was once a Jedi. He wouldn't assassinate anyone, it is not in his character.”

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi backed up Windu.  “He is a political idealist, not a murderer.”

Master Yoda, in an attempt to mediate, said, “In dark times nothing is what it appears to be, but the fact remains Senator, in grave danger, you are.”

Chancellor Palpatine, who hadn’t said a word, even of greeting, stood and walked to his window overlooking the vast city. “Count Dooku has always avoided any kind of conflict. It appears he has no desire to start a war. Why would he kill you? To what end?”

“I don't know,” Padmé admitted. “But everything in my being tells me he was behind it.”

After gazing out of the window for several moments Palpatine turned to Masters Windu and Yoda. “Master Jedi, may I suggest that the Senator be placed under the protection of your graces?”

Bail found his voice. “Do you think that is a wise use of the Jedi during these stressful times?”

Padmé also spoke up. “Chancellor, if I may comment, I do not believe the-”

“-situation is that serious,” Palpatine interrupted. “No, but I do, Senator.”

Padmé bristled. “Chancellor, please! I don't want any more guards! My handmaidens-”

The Chancellor interrupted her again, “I realize all too well that additional security might be disruptive for you, but perhaps someone you are familiar with--an old friend like, Master Kenobi.”

Master Windu nodded. “That's possible. He has just returned from a border dispute on Ansion.”

Padmé was unconvinced. “This is not necessary, Chancellor.”

“Do it for me, m'lady, please.  The thought of losing you is... unbearable,” he pleaded.

Padmé was outranked by the Chancellor, and Bail knew she needed him on her side before the meeting began. “It seems to be settled, then. _If_ Master Kenobi is available.”

The Jedi prepared to leave, and Mace Windu agreed, “I will have Obi-Wan Kenobi report to you immediately, m'lady.”

“Thank you, Senator Amidala,” Chancellor Palpatine said, calling attention back to himself as the Jedi made their way out. “I will not let this Republic, which has stood for over a thousand years, be split in two.”

“We have a plan to help you hold it together,” Padmé said, striding forward and pulling her datapad out of her deep pocket. “Let’s discuss what we came here for.”

 

***

 

“I’m going back to Naboo,” Padmé said over her comm. “The Jedi are opening an investigation into who keeps trying to kill me, but I know it’s Dooku.”

“I... wish I knew what to say to that,” Bail replied. He was sitting at his desk working on a communique when Padmé had started a group holocall with him and Mon Mothma.

“Who are you leaving in charge? Dormé?” Mon Mothma asked. “Who will be voting in your place?”

“Dormé cannot vote for me, I’m leaving Representative Binks in charge,” Padmé said. “This is _ridiculous_ , I should be here, not on Naboo.”

Binks was clever in his own right, a hero of the Naboo Blockade. But he lacked the focused mind of Senator Amidala. And a focused mind was needed at the moment, the Chancellor still hadn’t come down on one side or another of the Military Creation Act. And now he was sending Padmé away, for her own protection.  

“What do you want us to do?” asked Mon Mothma.

“Stay the course. I will not be intimidated by these Separatist terrorists, a statement will be released along those lines. And Jar-Jar knows where I stand on this vote.”

“Very well. Good luck, Padmé,” Bail said.

“Don’t wish me luck, wish it on Master Kenobi. The sooner he finds out what happened, the faster I’ll be back here, hopefully before the vote,” Padmé said, scrubbing her hands over her face in frustration.  “I cannot believe the Chancellor is sending me away. He should know I’m tough to kill.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Mon Mothma said soothingly. “We’ll keep Representative Binks in the committee’s loop, building on your strong leadership. He’ll honor your No vote, I’m sure of it. And we’ll keep pushing on the other senators. We’ll find a diplomatic solution to this mess.”

“Goddess, I hope you’re right,” Padmé said.

“Mon’s right," Bail said. "We’ll find a way. And at the end of the day, Chancellor Palpatine is from Naboo, you have generations of peace to back you up.” Bail said.   

Padmé pursed her lips together and Bail was struck anew by how young she was. He felt a thousand years old in comparison.

“I leave it to you then,” Padmé said. “I have to pack, and Jar-Jar is here. I need to debrief him, _and_ Padawan Skywalker will be here soon....” She trailed off.

“Go,” Mon Mothma urged. “Be safe. Don’t worry about us.”

“Thank you,” Padmé said. “Good luck!” She signed off.  

Bail tilted his head back. “She’s so dynamic, though, it’ll be much harder without her.”

“We can’t think about that now,” Mon Mothma said. “I’m setting up a Loyalist Committee meeting for later, and inviting Binks. Anyone else we should add to the list?”

“Let me speak to my aids, they may have some ideas,” Bail replied.

“Good, I’ll call in an hour.”

“See you then.”

 

***

 

The vote might have been salvageable, but Bail was blindsided when he, Senators Ask Aak, Lumnara, and Representative Binks were called to meet with the Chancellor and three of the Jedi Council. They'd been told that no one knew where Padmé or Skywalker was, that Obi-Wan Kenobi had discovered a clone army with dubious origins, and then there were:

“...Starships from the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guilds are taking deliveries of battle droids from the foundries on Geonosis,” the hologram of Kenobi reported.

Bail was immediately incensed. “That's outrageous! The Trade Federation has been forbidden to build an army. What are they doing?!”

“The droid foundry seems to be working at full capacity. I am going to go down and investigate. I will bring Jango Fett back home for interrogation,” Kenobi promised.

Master Windu nodded and said, “Be careful, Obi-Wan. This investigation is becoming less than routine. Do you need help?”

Kenobi shook his head. “I’m close to a break-through. Let me see if I can figure out what's going on first.”

His hologram faded, and those in the room stared at the spot, unwilling to believe what Kenobi reported.  

Finally, Chancellor Palpatine said, “Count Dooku must have made a treaty with them.”

Windu agreed, “We must stop them soon before they're fully ready.”

Senator Ask Aak jumped in, “The debate is over, we need that Clone army now!”

Bail disagreed. “The debate is _not_ over. The Senate will never approve the use of a Clone army.” At least, not if he had anything to say about it. Padmé was right, and they were walking into Dooku’s trap.

Mas Amedda, who’d been silent up until now, suddenly spoke up. “This is a crisis! If the Senate votes the Chancellor emergency powers, he could approve the use of the army.”

Palpatine demurred. “Please, I don't wish to have emergency powers. That's too extreme a solution. We must rely on the Jedi. Master Yoda, how many are available to go to Geonosis?”

“Two hundred... less or more,” Yoda said heavily.

“We should wait for Obi-Wan to report back,” Windu counseled.

Mas Amedda wasn’t done toying with his plan, though. “If only Senator _Amidala_ were here. She would be bold enough to suggest granting emergency powers to the Chancellor.”

Bail felt the mood shift and resolved to speak to Binks as soon as possible.

It wasn’t fast enough.

Thirty minutes later, they were in session and Representative Binks was pushing to grant the Emergency Powers. Bail voted no, one of the few to do so. How easily they walked into Dooku’s trap, he thought. He’d played the Senate like an Alderani flute. The Chancellor’s first act was to authorize the use of the Clone Army, despite not knowing who created them and who paid for them.

And still no word from Padmé.

The only person Bail wanted to talk to right now was his wife. He had to tell her what was going on, what would be going on now that the Galaxy was walking blindly into a civil war. For the first time, he had no idea what to do as Senator from a peaceful world.

 

***

 

Padmé, it turned out, ended up at the Battle of Geonosis and even managed to survive. She came briefly to Coruscant before being escorted back to Naboo. Bail didn’t have a chance to see her before she left; his presence was requested by the Chancellor to survey the Clone Army. It was not a happy day for him. He could barely watch as they marched around, loaded themselves into transports. He counted the minutes before he could leave for his own starship, Raymus was practically keeping the _Tantive III_ ’s engine running.

Finally, the last Clone was aboard, and the Chancellor was shaking everyone’s hands and paws. He shook Bail’s hand last, as if sensing Bail was in a hurry to get home to Alderaan and determined to keep him there for as long as possible. Of the party on the balcony, Bail Organa had been the only one to vote against the Chancellor’s emergency powers. Although no one mentioned it, an unspoken pressure seemed to ring in his ears.

“Have a safe journey back,” the Chancellor said pleasantly. “And say hello to the Queen for me.”

“I will be sure to pass along your good wishes,” Bail said.

He hurried to his landing pad, and once aboard, he found Raymus and hugged him. “Let’s go home.”

“You got it,” Raymus said. His face always betrayed his thoughts -- not quite as tired as Bail, but every bit as worried.

Bail paced in his office, tearing his hands through his hair, wondering how he was going to face the people of Alderaan, his beautiful peaceful home. He wasn’t sure what he could have done differently. Maybe talk to Binks sooner, maybe demand Padmé stay on Coruscant like she so clearly wanted.

But the war was like nightfall on a planet like Alderaan, with no moon to mark the hours. There seemed to be nothing to do now but hope for the dawn.

Breha was waiting at the landing pad when they arrived, wrapped up in a charcoal colored cloak. No retinue, just a lonely figure in the starlight. Bail stumbled off the _Tantive III_ and into her waiting arms. She held him tightly, and then, wrapping an arm around his waist, led him back to Aldra Palace, down the now familiar corridors and up the stairs to their apartments. She took his cloak and he pulled off his own boats.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, running his hands through his hair again. It was nearly standing on end.

“You’ll feel better,” Breha agreed. She embraced him once more, leaned up and kissed him quickly. “You did your best, Bail. No one is doubts you, not here. I’m glad Padmé's safe, but mostly I’m glad you’re home.”

He dropped another kiss in her hair. “As am I, my love.”

She squeezed him tightly, then released him. “Go take your shower. I’ll heat up some leftovers, and once you’ve eaten, you are going to sleep for at least twelve hours.”

“That sounds like heaven,” he agreed.

Bail took himself through the ordinary motions of showering, shaving, brushing his teeth, putting on his soft sleeping clothes. Breha held his hand while he ate, leaning into him when he paused. Finally he couldn’t eat anymore and she pulled him into the bedroom. Under the covers, they fit themselves together. Both lay awake longer than they did normally, not speaking, not doing anything beyond sharing heat.

Finally, both of them succumbed to the temporary peace of sleep, gathering strength for the morning.


	16. tired of things that break, and-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A War, and conflicting priorities plague Bail and Breha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many kudos to mrstater for her editing skillz! 
> 
> The title comes from "[you are tired (i think)]" by e.e. cummings.

The Pacifist Queen of Alderaan, Breha Organa hoped that these Clone Wars would be over quickly, but the galaxy was a large and often terrible place. She was coming to terms with the idea that maybe her hopes were jinxes. 

She was miscarrying again, confirmed by her physician, Doctor Halsta. They had long left Doctor Luha’s fertility practice, she couldn’t face that waiting room full of successful baby holos.  Bail came home for a few days to wrap her in comfort and wait for the bleeding to stop, but the war called him back to the Senate, and she'd sent him on his way. 

Breha was between cohorts and it was one of the district breaks, so she took the opportunity to go off the radar. She wasn’t taking any meetings, and after a few days of not returning any comms (except to Bail), a worried Deara used a key that Breha had given her years ago to invade her sister’s apartments.

She lay on the couch, flipping aimlessly through the holonet, looking for something to hold her attention. Since Bail left, she hadn't slept, hadn’t showered, or even eaten anything of consequence. 

“It’s not like you to go to pieces,” Deara said, pulling a chair to her sister’s side, blocking her view of the projection. 

“I miscarried again. What do you want me to do?” 

Deara went white and leaned closer to her sister. “Well first off, you’re supposed to tell me when stuff like this happens.”

Breha closed her eyes. She felt so sensitive, like an exposed nerve. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

Deara reached out her hand to rest over Breha’s, but Breha flinched away. “What can I do for you?”

“I wish I knew,” Breha admitted. 

Deara stood up. Breha opened her eyes and watched as her sister started cleaning the room, picking up discarded clothing and blankets. She opened the windows to let the light and cold air in, gathered the dishes Breha left scattered around her. “I’ll draw you a bath. And you have to brush your teeth, B.”

Breha threw a pillow at her, but without any real malice. It glanced harmlessly off Deara’s shoulder.

“Love you too,” Deara called back to her sister.  

Breha tried not to feel guilty or selfish that Deara spent the next few days with her. She made sure Breha slept and ate and went outside. Bail took care of her, of course, when he was here, and she tried not to resent his Senate work, but sometimes it was hard with him gone so often, even though they talked nearly every day. 

“You know, I couldn’t ask for a better sister,” Breha said. It was the last night of freedom before the district break ended. 

“You just like me because I make the spiciest curries,” Deara teased.

“I guess that’s how you get me to eat,” Breha said, scooping up some rice. “Add more peppers.”

“Just like Mother taught us,” Deara said with a small smile. “I miss her so much, I wish she was here tonight.”

“I know. She’d know what to say to make us feel better.” Breha pushed her rice around her plate. When did you stop missing your mother? She was thirty-six and all she wanted to do was lay her head on Mother’s lap and listen to her counsel. Mrs. Antilles was a kind woman, but there was nothing like your own mum.  

Deara began clearing their plates and Breha followed her into the small kitchen and dried as Deara washed. 

“I’m thinking of taking my new cohort on a tour of the cultural centers of Alderaan,” Breha suggested slowly. “I have a mix of educators with my normal political science students.”

“That’s a good idea,” Deara agreed, scrubbing the rice pan. “You haven’t been out of the capitol in awhile. Need me to come along? To talk about sculpting, of course.”

“That sounds lovely,” Breha said, touched. “Maybe I can ask Anla, so she can teach about poetry. And of course, to help me demonstrate swordplay.”

“Are we visiting the Triosa School of Swordplay?” Deara bumped her hip into Breha’s. “Bail will be pleased.”

“It  _ is _ one of the sites I’m thinking of,” Breha admitted.

“It’s a great idea, for your educators  _ and _ your politicians. Cross-pollination.” Deara placed the last plate in the dishrack and drained the sink. 

Breha smiled. “I guess that’s the general idea. I have to talk to Miko, though. And Kista.”

“Poor Kista. You should give that woman a raise.” Deara spun around and stole Breha’s towel to dry her hands. 

“I’ll add it to the to-do list,” Breha agreed, snatching the towel back. 

  
  


***

  
  


Kista seemed unfazed by Breaha’s request, saying only, “I’ll check on the cohort’s availability.”

Miko also thought it was a good idea. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been to the districts, and traditional Alderaani arts and crafts always lights you up.”

“You’re saying I’m not always lit up?” 

Miko smiled. “You’re allowed to wax and wane.”

“Urgh. Has Anla been teaching you metaphors?” Breha teased, busying herself with her datapad. 

“You like it. It keeps you grounded.” Miko sat across from Breha at her desk. They had just sent the cohort to meet all the District Governors as a tour of the legislative compound. Then they were set to meet with the Mayor of Aldra. Breha and Miko had a few hours to themselves to finalize details of the district tour before presenting it to the cohort. 

“I want you to know I’m properly grounded, Miko,” Breha said. “And I also want you to know that I miscarried again a few weeks ago.” Her heart was heavy, this was the fourth time she had to share this kind of news. 

“Oh, Breha. Is there anything I can do?” Miko looked as devastated by the news as she felt, their brown eyes full of concern. 

“Not really. Bail and Deara took care of me. It was well timed, over the district break.”

“Are these things ever well timed?” they asked. 

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. 

“Is that why you want to get out of the capitol?”

“A large part of it, yes.” Breha leaned back in her chair, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Mostly I wish I could go back in time. Remember the time when we went camping at the Cloudshape Falls?”

“Of course I do. Anla and I tried to get you guys to resolve your sexual tension. Pity it didn’t work,” Miko said dryly. 

“I was wondering why you guys left us alone so much,” Breha joked.

“And the skinny-dipping, that was Anla’s idea.”

Breha laughed. “Goddess, we had fun. It was very difficult to keep my eyes off of Bail.”

“Our plans worked then.”

“I would say so.”  

“Have you given any more thought to what I suggested in the sauna that day?”

“Bail and I have been discussing it.” She was still staring at the ceiling, unable to look at one of her oldest friends. It was true, they’d talked about it, when not distracted by the war and Alderaan’s needs. Both were in agreement that such a measure would have to be handled carefully. 

“Good. You know, I teach Constitutional Law every year, and I’ve yet to hear a student or read a paper that argues for a pure bloodline. I think your people would understand.”  

“I’ll tell Bail,” Breha said. “Speaking of, I’m expecting a comm from him.”

Miko stood. “Fair enough. I also have work to do. Tell him hello for me!”

Breha looked down at Miko’s face, smiling and full of friendship and comfort. “Always,” Breha said with a smile. 

 

***

 

Breha’s comm chirped, and while she could tell it was via Coruscant, it wasn’t a channel Bail had used before, nor Padmé for that matter. Her heart caught, then she reminded herself that Bail was safe in the Senate this week. He didn’t get active missions, not really. 

Her bags were packed, her entourage was waiting for her downstairs on the landing pad. The district tour would start the moment they lifted off. But Breha knew all messages from Coruscant should be considered important, even if Bail was supposed to be safe. 

She clicked the message open with a trembling hand. 

“Greetings, honored leaders of the Galactic Republic,” Chancellor Palpatine began. 

Breha sat with a sigh. This could be a long message, but one that was clearly sent to everyone. Bail was safe. Palpatine’s voice was smooth and pleasant to listen to, soothing her frayed nerves, his expression tinged with concern. Bags under his eyes told of long nights recently. 

“My dear friends, we are six months into this terrible conflict. I know many of you were as reluctant to enter into this war as I was. But in this time of war, we all look to peace what that will mean for our worlds and for our greater democratic society. We are being tested in a way we have not been tested for over a thousand years. I stand strong against the Separatist threats, but only because I know you stand behind me. With the support of every Republic system, this is a conflict we can win. 

“But it will not be without sacrifice, I am afraid. And it is with this spirit of sacrifice, I beg you to further our cause. Though the Clone Army has been a great boon to us, and though the Jedi Order leads us into the fray, costs of the war have skyrocketed higher than even the Senate could have predicted. 

“I come to you now to ask, no, to beg, for some tithe, some aid, to help us further the cause of democracy. 

“I appreciate the difficulty of this request, how much pressure it puts on your systems. I ask not that this help be taken from the most vulnerable of your populations, but rather, a temporary cutback where it will be less missed. Those of you who invest untold credits into long term investments. Those of you with robust arts and arts funding, perhaps. After all, flowers grow just as prettily out of cracks in the sidewalk. Perhaps a small freeze on these to aid security for the galaxy is in order. I leave this to your discretion for now.

“May this fight bring us to victory, and to another thousand years of peace in our galaxy. Thank you for your consideration.”

Breha had experienced whiplash only once before, messing around on speeders with Deara unsupervised when they were children. That’s what this message felt like. The Supreme Chancellor wanted her to cut arts funding? She’d have to talk to Bail. She’d have to talk to Miko. She’d have to talk to the Governors and the mentorship cohort -  _ kriff _ ! The cohort that was waiting for her. 

She powered down her datapad and hurried out of the palace to them.  

“Thank you for waiting,” she began, but Deara waved her off.

“Relax, we still have plenty of time to make it to Aplaarora.”

“Good, and on our way, I have something to discuss with all of you.” Breha turned to the cohort, six educators, six political science students. “Shall we?” 

They followed her up the ramp and into the common room. She looked to Kista, Anla, Miko, and Deara, and then to the cohort. 

“The reason I was late was because of a transmission I received from Coruscant. We’re still in the opening stages of this conflict, I fear, and though Alderaan is a pacifist planet, we still owe allegiance to the Republic. You are here to learn to balance your own desires with your sense of duty, and I fear we won’t be able to find good compromises here. This is your first lesson,” Breha concluded, before projecting the Chancellor’s message. 

She watched everyone’s faces very closely, while also listening to the tone of the Chancellor’s message. Humble, pleading, but firm. “I leave this to your discretion for now,” seemed to send a jolt through her. Everyone looked uncomfortable.  

The message ended and a petite young woman named Dayana Tolorna said, “May I ask if the Viceroy has responded to this message?” She was one of the political science students. She wore two long braids down over her shoulders, her brown eyes surveyed her cohort thoughtfully. 

“As of yet, he has not. I expect to hear from him this afternoon. I shall keep you informed of his response.”

“If  _ I _ may,” Anla interjected, “What’s this business about ‘After all, flowers grow just as prettily out of cracks in the sidewalk?’ Last I checked, flowers flourish in well fed gardens and forests and prairies!” 

“I agree, of course. We’ll have to find a middle ground. Now, I think our focus should be Aplaarora, celebrating our arts and our cultures this next week. The Chancellor has not yet outlined when he would like a response from us, there’s no deadline. I sometimes find it best to focus on what is in front of me, tabling complex problems and thinking about them for as long as possible. This will require a great deal of diplomacy, and perhaps, some compromises on our part.” 

Breha picked up her datapad and nodded to Kista, who followed her out of the room back to her office. “Get word to Bail, I need to talk to him about this before we move on anything.”

“Of course, ma’am.” 

Bail’s updates followed them around as they visited sites at each of the six districts. They met with Master Artists in each, taking a few days to learn about knitting and painting, pottery and sculpting, singing and dancing, poetry traditions and the written word. They also spoke to each of the Governors in their home districts to get their perspectives.

Along the way, they discussed strategy together, and Bail kept them informed of what worlds contributed to the Chancellor, the means by which they did so, and how much was given. 

Finally, they ended at the Triosa School of Swordplay. 

“Oh, it’s  _ wonderful!” _ said Anla, who had never been. She was spinning circles in the great hall, taking in the light and the space. 

“Isn’t it? It feels like a natural part of the forests,” Breha said. She didn’t share that it still felt like standing in her Keepsake Chest, that this was a love letter from Bail to her.  And just outside was the place where they had kissed that night in the starlight; Breha’s heart fluttered when she'd walked by the spot earlier. 

She searched the room at the cohort testing practice foils, some for the first time. There were masters scattered around, most Breha recognized. She couldn’t help but smile. 

“So what’s the plan?” Miko said. 

“Well, I thought I'd let everyone have a lesson, then a spar with me,” Breha suggested.

“No, I mean, we’ve had two weeks to deliberate. Have you made any decisions?”

“I have a few ideas, and I’ll be giving from my own accounts. There’s no need to trouble the people of Alderaan, and this tour has made me a stronger champion for our arts funding.” Breha added, “I might even raffle off some of my practice swords.”

“If you sell off the Wismew Masa rapiers, I will lead a revolution personally,” Anla vowed. 

“I promise those will remain safe for your particular use.” Breha laughed. 

Glancing around again, she saw that everyone had chosen a practice foil, and the masters were beginning to pass around safety pads and helmets. 

Breha, Anla, and Miko took their leave to the observation deck.

“They’ve come a long way, Miko,” Breha said watching them. “They’ve all been friendly and warm, outgoing, quick to learn. This is a good batch.”

“Well, your education initiatives have had a far-reaching effect.”

“I wasn’t fishing, Miko, take the compliment. This mixed batch was your idea, you selected the candidates.”  

The trio of friends watched as the teachers put them through their paces, and then the Queen herself accepted any who wished to challenge her. The members of the cohort were all at different levels, skill-wise, but Breha tried to draw each of them in turn into longer and longer spars, finding ways to play to their own strengths. 

At last, sweating profusely, Breha finished her final duel. She took off her helmet and bowed to Dayana Tolorna.

Turning up to the Observation Deck where the cohort waited, she called out, “How about a Gala to raise funds for the war?”

A deafening cheer echoed around the space. Breha smiled. “Right then! We’d better hurry back to Aldra!” 

There was work to do. 


	17. she smelled of silence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacrifice comes in many forms, and Bail and Breha gently let go of a long-held dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to lalalalalawhy for her help with what has become one of my favorite exchanges. She always has my back whenever I come pouting to the clubhouse. <3 
> 
> But no chapter would be complete without mrstater - thank you for betaing this! 
> 
> And finally, e.e. cummings provided the title, from "[the poem her belly marched through me as]".

****Breha awoke in pain. “Anxiety,” she told herself in the mirror. Although not currently being treated for it, with four miscarriages in her medical history she’d been medicated in the past. She'd been in and out of grief therapy, too, which taught her that sometimes mental pain manifested physically. Since the Clone Wars began, she'd experienced intermittent achyness and soreness.

 _Still_ , she thought, passing a hand over her abdomen. The pain wasn’t normally this bad. Her shoulder throbbed, and she suddenly felt lightheaded. Perhaps she was getting her menses, that unpredictable bleeding that was a reminder of how inhospitable her uterus was, medically speaking. But this didn’t feel like normal cramps.

Her schedule was full today; if there was still this much pain in the evening, she’d send for her physician. Leaning into the mirror, she pinched her cheeks, trying to bring some color to them. The loose gray gown she wore washed her out.

The walk to her office was a slow one, and when she arrived at Kista’s antechamber, her secretary’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Ma’am, you look as white as snow!”

“I’m fine. It’s stress,” Breha tried to wave her off, but the movement jarred her abdomen in a surprising way. She gasped and Kista was there, forcing her into a chair. The change in position didn’t help. Kista’s cool hand was at her Queen’s brow.

“I’m calling your physician and canceling your appointments.”

“It’s nothing, it’s...”

“Nonsense. You’re all clammy.” Kista reached into her own deep pockets and pulled out her comm. In moments, she had a connection with Doctor Halsta.

Halsta listened to Breha breathlessly describe her pain, took one look at her, and said, “I’m admitting you. Get yourself to the Aldra medical facility as fast as you can, I’ll be there to meet you.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur as Kista rallied all of Breha’s attendants. It seemed to be a blink, or perhaps time lost meaning beyond the pain, and Breha found herself in an examination room, helped into one of those universally unattractive hospital gowns, a blanket draped across her thighs.

“Please tell the Viceroy that I have the Queen in my care. He may want to return to Alderaan,” Dr. Halsta told Kista before shutting the door firmly.

The request for Bail and the snick of the door was what caused Breha to be scared for the first time. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a hunch, ma’am,” Dr. Halsta said, setting up a medscanner. “I’m going to need to examine you.”

When Breha nodded, Dr. Halsta gently pulled up Breha’s gown, and she squirted some lubricant low on Breha’s belly. Some familiarity sparked in Breha’s mind. Before she rallied a question, Halsta waved the medwand over her stomach as gently as possible, watching the screen with a keen eye. The room was silent but for the ticking of the chrono. Breha felt the pain flare again and she fought for consciousness.

Dr. Halsta bit her lip. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, it appears you have what’s called an ectopic pregnancy. It shouldn’t really be called a pregnancy because it can’t be supported. There is a... zygote, growing in your fallopian tube. I’m going to have to go in and remove it, and assess the damage.”

“I... can I speak to Bail?”

“He’s not yet here, Your Grace. And we haven’t much time.”

“We have to do this now?”

“I’m afraid so. If you have any questions, ask them now,” Dr. Halsta leaned over and hit a button. Breha imagined a scramble of surgeons as Dr. Halsta explained. “We don’t generally put patients all the way under unless you choose that. But it’s a small incision, large enough for a camera and a small instrument. I’ll then assess the damage to your organs and check for bleeding. I am sure we caught this early, though.”

Two nurses came in, and a sterile surgical droid.

There was a knock and when a nurse answered, Deara’s worried face appeared. Breha reached a hand out for her sister. Halsta nodded, “You can come in if you’ve scrubbed.”

“I have,” Deara promised. Her short hair was caught in a cap.

The nurse opened the door and slid a stool by Breha’s head. A curtain went up and after a nerve block, Breha had no sense of what was happening, beyond the fact that the pain suddenly evaporated. The feeling was disorienting.

“Kista called me,” Deara said, settling on the stool. She took Breha’s hands. “Sorry I didn’t get here faster.”  She pulled a tissue, seemingly out of thin air, and gently wiped her sister’s tears. “What’s going on? Kista didn’t know.”

“Another pregnancy gone wrong. I didn’t know about it,” Breha said quietly, barely getting the words out. She was thirty-seven. How many more times was her body going to put her through this?

There was a flurry of activity as Halsta worked quickly behind the screen.

“Bail’s on his way. And Kista’s clearing your schedule. I’ll make your appearances as long as you need.” She conjured another tissue and wiped away the cold sweat on Breha’s forehead.

The drugs were doing funny things to Breha’s brain, all her thoughts were slow and cruel, she could hardly understand what Deara was saying. Something about her schedule, and then completely changing the subject, but Breha didn’t really care what the popstar Kiratta was up to at the moment.  

And then it was over and she was wheeled into a recovery room where she was told to sleep it off.

 

***

 

Breha slowly woke up again, groggy and confused. The pain was less, but her mouth was dry. She’d open her eyes in a minute, she thought. Just another minute, and then she’d get some water. She felt like a child, wanting Bara’s hand on her brow, singing the Mirrorbright lullaby. The lyrics, “ _Mirrorbright shines the moon, as fires die to their embers,_ ” circled in her head. Were all lullabies so dark? Breha didn’t know, she’d never had the chance to sing one. She felt that thought twinge. Her eyelashes fluttered open.

Bail was there at her elbow, his hand warm against her skin.

“Hi, B,” he said.

“Hi,” she managed. “Water?”

“Of course.”  He poured her a glass from a pitcher, and she adjusted the bed so she sat upright. Bail passed the water and she drank it down faster than what was probably recommended. Taking the glass again, he refilled it and set it on the tray alongside her bed. She reached out a hand to him, but stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ve been out of it,” she said. “What did Halsta say?”

“She had to remove the ruptured tube, but everything else looked fine. You have three stitches, Your Grace. Your first scar.” He took her hand and ghosted a kiss over her knuckles.

Breha smiled weakly, unable to look at him directly. Modern medicine was pretty good, she thought. Not every experience mapped on a body.  “I’m sorry, I-”

“Please don’t be sorry,” he said. “Nothing I’m missing in the Senate is more important than you. _Nothing_.”

She fell into silence at that. She wasn’t sure that was what she was sorry for, but it would do for now.

“Also we should give Kista another raise for saving your life. Dr. Halsta said it was a good thing you came in when you did.”

Breha wanted to tell him not to be so dramatic but that felt like too much work.

He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“Lightspeed only goes so fast,” she said. “If I don’t get to be sorry, neither do you.”

“But I _am_ sorry,” he said. “So so sorry that you went through this, again.”

Breha’s breath caught in her chest. He stood and kissed her forehead. She shifted over and he took her invitation, settling next to her on the small hospital bed and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She turned into his chest, brushing a kiss over his jaw. Breha looked up at his face, tired and lined beyond his years. The laugh-lines on his face merged with new creases born of worries. His hair was still dark and full, and she ran her hand over his temples to bury her fingertips in it, briefly, then down to his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Terrible,” Breha said.

“Halsta cornered me before you woke.”

“Oh?”

“She says you shouldn’t get pregnant again, your body has been through a great deal of trauma. She suggested several birth control methods.”

“Imagine, needing birth control at this age,” Breha said dryly.

He chuckled. “Kinda puts the spark back into things?”

“Not really,” she sighed.

“You’re right, of course,” he said, gently kissing her hairline. “Regardless, I’ve set up an appointment to, er, cut off relations with Dathomir.”

There was a beat while Breha tried to figure out what he meant. Maybe it was her brain still fuzzy, but she had no idea. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, home of the Night Brothers?"

She laughed, an honest to goddess laugh. It hurt her tortured abdomen, but she didn’t care. “Are you talking about your...” she chuckled again, “your deposits?”

He laughed with her and if they both shed a few tears over his upcoming vasectomy, well, who was to say they didn’t come from the laughter? It didn’t matter. He peppered a few more kisses in her hair. Breha pressed the control that allowed them to recline again.

“I know I should be wide awake after sleeping all day,” she said, “but I’m still tired.”

“Blame the drugs,” he whispered into her ear.

“Stay,” she commanded, tightening her grip on his arm. “Stay with me.”

“Forever,” he promised, and watched her eyelashes flutter closed. Her breathing slowed down and steadied. Bail soothed his hand over her back and watched her fall back to sleep in his arms.

 

***

 

Bail had received a comm from Rouge, Celly, and Tia,  inviting him and Breha to lunch. No doubt the Antilles women were worried for their brother and sister-in-law. Despite privacy laws about medical records, the story had leaked out about her emergency procedure, his follow-up appointment. People, even the ones trying to be kind, said such heartless things. Especially out of fear. The steady bloodlines of the constitutional monarchy had guided Alderaan for generations upon generations. Was Breha to be her last Queen? Or perhaps Deara?

Breha wanted to stay at home, and Bail didn’t blame her. The surgery wasn’t considered invasive, but she was miserable. Bail himself was a little sore but nothing a week’s worth of rest wouldn’t cure, according to the doctors. For the physical ache, at least. Hegot into his speeder for the quick suborbital trip. Normally Raymus would have taken him to Juranno, but he was home with his wife Leda and their new little baby, Wedge. Bail was happy for his cousin, and Wedge was a chubby, happy baby, three months old and a champion at smiling. But their visits had been minimal.

He tapped his fingers on the steering handles, piloting through Juranno’s light traffic to Celly’s house. Spring came early to his old district, closer to the equator than the northern city of Aldra. Climbing out of his speeder, he removed his cloak and left it across the seat. He quietly slipped into Celly’s home, following the voices of his laughing, teasing sisters who had crowded into the kitchen to assist Celly with the food.

When he walked through the door, Rouge didn’t miss a beat, directing him to a salad that needed tossing as she pulled some bread out of the oven, slathered with moof butter and local Juranno herbs.

Tia, in the middle of a story about work, poured Bail a tall glass of lemonade and passed it over with a grin.

He still hadn’t really said anything, beyond asking after utensils. They had slipped into the easy camaraderie often shared between the siblings. Breha and Deara were just as adapt at it. That was the nice thing about families, Bail thought, bringing the large salad bowl into the dining room. He leaned into the feeling, while acknowledging that he and Breha would have to find a new way.

“How’s the Senate?” Rouge asked when the table was finally set, and the four crowded around in Celly’s bright dining room.

“Exhausting,” he admitted. “I generally work even through my breaks.”

“Are you working now?” Tia asked gently, cutting into her roast.

“Err, a little. Not so much on Senate work, though.”  There was a pause, his sisters sensing he had something to say, bu needed the space to say it. He took a sip of his lemonade. “Breha and I... we’re thinking of adopting a child.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Celly said without hesitation. “I’m sure it’ll be wildly popular, or at least, people will get used to the idea.”

“I certainly hope so,” Bail admitted. “We’re going to start working in ernest soon, but Miko has been suggesting this for years - literally. We should have listened to them long before.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourselves,” Tia said, soothingly. “It’s never too late. And any child will be so lucky to have you and Breha.”

And the conversation turned again to an upcoming Royal visit to Juranno, and if Breha would have time to visit the Antilles women.

“Mum and Dad would love to see Breha, even if you’ll be back on Coruscant,” Rouge said, as if it settled the matter. Bail made a note to tell Kista.

The rest of the visit was just as relaxing. They cleared the table and the kitchen of their mess so Celly wouldn’t be left with it later. Then they went into the lounge, draping themselves on the couch. Celly pulled out the Cesa board. Their mother had taught them to play over endless bowls of popped corn, a silly game where markers had to go once around the board. Light on strategy, long on chance, the race could either be a sprint or a marathon. Bail loved playing with his sisters, and it was such a nice way to end his visits. They played until all four had won a round, which today meant seven games. It also meant he’d have to hurry back to Aldra.

“Are you sure you can’t stay, Bail?” Celly said when he checked the wall chrono and stood quickly.

“I’m supposed to be going to the opera tonight with Breha. It’s our first public appearance since....”

“We understand,” Rouge said, also standing. She wrapped her arms around her brother. “Safe flight, and don’t be a stranger.”

He kissed all his sisters’ cheeks and hurried out, annoyed that he’d lost track of the time, but also feeling much more relaxed than he had when he’d arrived that morning. It was nice just being Bail for a few hours, not a consort or a viceroy, but a brother to be teased. It helped put his work in perspective: even though he was up to his neck in an intergalactic conflict, even though he and Breha were grieving a finality, there were still moments of lightness to be taken.

As he pulled into the palace’s hanger, he resolved to bring that to Breha now. Mx. Aeris met Bail at the door and informed him that Breha was in their apartments, dressing.

“Do hurry, sir, the Opera, I’m afraid you’re running a bit behind schedule.”

“My apologies. I will be ready when the Queen is,” Bail assured the attendant, rushing up the stairs and down the long corridors.  

Their apartments had become his home since they married, a cluster of rooms, a kitchen, a well-appointed fresher with a deep tub.  He found Breha sprawled across their giant bed, still wrapped in a towel. She had apparently had taken a bath; her skin was pink and flushed, her hair wrapped up in a high braid so as not to trail in the water.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you still want to go out?”

“Yes, I was just being lazy,” she admitted. She lay face down in the pillows and didn’t move to look at him. Her dress was hanging on the door of her wardrobe, her jewelry on the dressing table, cosmetics were scattered beside the earings.

Bail took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Picking up a glass pot of her favorite lotion, he came back to the bed and began rubbing the lotion into her shoulders.

“Oooh, that feels nice,” she murmured.  

“I thought it might. And now you’ll smell like a starblossom,” Bail said.

“I hope it won’t distract you from the Opera.”

“I’d be more worried for Anla and Miko,” he said, pulling the towel away to work down her back.

She jumped at the loss of the towel. He paid her no mind and worked the lotion into her skin, massaging tight muscles. He went back to the pot and scooped out some more lotion, warming it up a moment and starting on her legs.

“How are your sisters?” she asked as he reached her other leg.

“They’re fine. They hope you’ll make a family visit when you’re in Juranno next month.”  He rubbed some lotion into the arch of her foot.

Breha sighed at the massage and said, “Of course.”  She pushed herself up and back so she was sitting on her heels, wrapping her towel around her again like fencing pads. Her hair was arranged in her normal crown, but with no silver threads. Her favorite tiara waited for her on the dressing table.  

She looked at him, her eyes were clouded with uncertainty.

“Did I wait too long?” she asked.

They had made no public appearances in the last few weeks. It was as if she had disappeared. They had agreed to take her datapad away when the holonet became too painful to look at. Bail took her hand.

“No. And we can start again tonight.”

He kissed her cheek and stood to dress. After a few more moments, she followed him.

She had a few small plates set out in the kitchen, so Bail and Breha snacked as they got ready. It would never do to go to the Opera hungry. But other than the necessities of _“Have you seen my shoes? Can you reach this button? Where did I put my earring? How do I look?”_ they didn’t really speak until they arrived at the Royal Opera House.

Her hand hovered above the handle for a second, and she looked at the large building, full of lights. There weren’t many people outside, the Opera was to begin in the next few moments.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said and pushed her door open.

He was around the speeder in a moment, taking her arm gently by the elbow and escorting her up the stairs.  They both looked straight ahead, Bail attempted a smile for a few of the camera droids, but they declined any comments. The lobby was nearly empty, there were polite and silent greetings as the Queen and her Consort swept to the elevator that would deliver them to their box.

Now that they were here, though, there was no rush. The Opera would not begin without them.

Bail opened the curtain to the box, full to bursting with flowers that Anla and Miko, already there, had tried to move out of the way.

Breha stepped into the box to greet her best friends when her words were interrupted by a large and warm round of applause. She looked to the audience. They were on their feet, for her, a sight she had never gotten used to. Now, it was overwhelming.

“Smile and wave,” Anla prompted.

“Look who knows so much,” Breha teased.

“We learned from the best,” Miko assured her.

They stepped back with Anla so Bail could enter the box, and the couple greeted the Opera House. Thousands of opera glasses flashed in the sparkling light, Breha felt like they were the ones on the stage. After a few tasteful waves, she and Bail settled in their seats. The rest of the audience followed her lead.  

Breha breathed a sigh of relief, blinked back tears.

“Well, I’d say the people are still behind you,” Anla whispered as the opening strains of _The Black Mountain_ began.

Bail sat next to her and squeezed her hand until her heart rate returned to normal.  Then the four of them lost themselves in the music and the story.


	18. woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clone Wars have gone on too long, and there are those who would like their legacy to be its end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, to the mighty mrstater for her masterful beta work! 
> 
> The poem is from, what else? e.e. cummings' "[my father moved through dooms of love]" which is a perfect Bail Organa poem, even if I do say so myself.

The holonet was calling it the Battle of Coruscant. Bail had been up close and personal with battles and missions before, and even been taken hostage by a group of bounty hunters in the very halls of the Senate. But this, the abduction of Chancellor Palpatine by General Grievous, rocked Breha in a terrifying new way.

Unable to focus on her work, she begged Kista to cancel her appointments.

Standing on one of Aldra Palace’s sheltered mountains, she prayed, quietly, for the Clone Wars to end. Her datapad buzzed update from deep inside her skirt pocket, but she kept her eyes on the snowy peaks. The clouds hung low in the sky, heavy with the forecasted snow. She normally loved winter, but this one felt so long.

Her datapad buzzed again and finally, she slid it out of her pocket. Just a steady stream of news from Coruscant, but nothing from Bail in the last few minutes, other than the assurances that he was fine, the Senators were safe. It wasn’t just Bail; they had so many friends in the Senate now: Mon Mothma, Padmé, Bana Breemu, Fang Zar, Chi Eekway, Giddean Danu.... And of course their staffs. And Raymus Antilles. If anything happened to him, the head of Bail’s security, how could Breha look Leda or Wedge in the eye again?

She placed her left hand on the arch of her ribcage and tried to calm her breathing.

The datapad buzzed again, this time tingling her fingertips of her right hand. She checked the screen, and still nothing.  

Breha opened another channel and sent a call through to Anla.

“Hi! I was just about to leave," Anla answered, full of energy and smiles. "Do you want me to pick anything up on my way over?”

“I actually called to cancel.” Breha looked at the bottom of the screen instead of into the lens that was recording her, but she didn't miss Anla's instant shift in mood.

“Um, _you_ want to cancel a spar? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t looked at the news?”

“Not today. I was writing.”  

“Chancellor Palpatine was abducted today. I don’t have any more details yet.”

“Is Bail okay?”

“He’s fine, but, I’m worried. I wish the fighting would stop. I don’t think it’s going very well for us, no matter what the reports say. I think we need to open diplomatic channels again.” Breha brought her eyes up to the camera lens, letting Anla see how concerned she was.

“You know I agree with you,” Anla said slowly. “Any suggestion would have to be, well, diplomatic. But with such a blatant abduction, some systems are going to be out for blood. Or oil, I guess. Droids don’t have blood.”

“Well, it’s a goal, anyway. I’m sorry I have to cancel, but I’m too worried to even pretend to spar with you.”

“Don’t feel bad. Let me know when you hear from Bail. I’ll try and catch a news report later.”

“Only if it won’t hurt your poetry,” Breha said.

“Something this important? I should know about it. My writing will keep.” She blew a kiss, then cut the call.

Breha checked the news again-- _still nothing_ \-- and slid the datapad back in her pocket.

Both hands on her diaphragm now, she returned to the meditative act of counting her breaths and praying for peace.

 

***

 

“All is well,” Bail commed Breha late in the day. “The Chancellor has been rescued by our friend Master Kenobi and his former apprentice Anakin Skywalker. I’ll send more details later in an official report.”

He managed to get the message off before joining up with a contingency of senators and Jedi meeting the newly rescued Palpatine. Count Dooku was killed, and General Grievous’s command ship, the _Invisible Hand_ , was destroyed by Skywalker’s crash landing. Still, their only losses were the honored Jedi-General Shaak Ti, and the Clones who’d run interference in the dogfight above Coruscant. Grievous had taken his troops and scattered.

Congratulations and relief circulated through the crowd as they welcomed Palpatine and Skywalker, and they turned to go back to the business of the Senate.

Bail had gotten to know Anakin fairly well during these last years of the Clone Wars, and respected him as Kenobi’s former Padawan. Turning to the younger man, he said, “Skywalker, the Republic cannot praise you enough.”

“Thank you, Senator Organa,” the Jedi replied. “The kidnapping was a bold move by the Separatists, but it was a mistake that Obi-Wan and I were able to take advantage of.”

Bail felt optimistic for the first time in several weeks. “The end of Count Dooku will surely bring an end to this war, and an end to the Chancellor's draconian security measures.”

“I wish that were so, but the fighting will continue until General Grievous is spare parts. The Chancellor is very clear about that.”

Bail glanced at Skywalker, taking in the confidence in the younger man’s voice. War scarred him in more ways than the healed gash above his eye, but he seemed determined to see it through. Either because of his calling as a Jedi or the demands of the Chancellor and the Senate, Bail couldn’t say.

But he wanted to end the war, soon. “I'll do everything I can with the Senate,” Bail said, trying to soothe his own feelings on the matter.

Anakin Skywalker excused himself from the Senatorial retinue. Bail hoped he hadn’t offended the war hero, but he couldn’t dwell on it now. He continued into the Senate and up to his office to make a report for the Queen. And maybe double check with Raymus about his own security, just to put everyone’s mind at ease. Today had been a trial, and it wasn’t even over.   

 

***

 

Momentum was on their side, Bail could feel it. It wasn’t just Alderaan that was sick of war. Small groups across the Galaxy were beginning to advocate for peace, but the Chancellor once again extended his emergency powers and redoubled their reliance on the Jedi Order.

Of the two thousand beings that voted against it, Bail invited his closest allies in the Senate to a meeting. Mon Mothma, Padmé Amidala, Bana Breemu, Teer Taneel, Fang Zar, Chi Eekway, Giddean Danu made time to meet in his office. After greeting his guests, the talk naturally turned to the Chancellor’s latests grasp for power. All gathered were concerned.

Bail began the meeting. “Now that he has control of the Jedi Council, the Chancellor has appointed Governors to oversee all star systems in the Republic.”

“When did this happen?” asked Fang Zar. He was a dark skinned human with a luxurious white beard and his hair gathered in the traditional Sern Prime top-knot.

“He posted the decree this morning,” Bail replied.  

“Do you think he'll dismantle the Senate?” Padmé asked.  

Mon Mothma said, “Why bother? As a practical matter, the Senate no longer exists.”

Giddean Danu agreed. “The constitution is in shreds. Amendment after amendment, executive directives, sometimes a dozen in one day.” Giddean, a tall man with a resplendent hat represented Kuat in the Senate, another Core world ruled by a monarch.

“We can't let a thousand years of democracy disappear without a fight.” And Bail was ready to fight for it.

The words rang around the room, however. Everyone looked to each other, knowing full well the the implication of Bail’s declaration.

Terr Taneel, the red-haired senator from Senex, asked, “What are you suggesting?” Her voice was tentative, but then, Senex profited handsomely from the war.

“I apologize. I didn't mean to sound like a Separatist,” Bail added to appease her.

Mon saved the day, however. “We are not Separatists trying to leave the Republic. We are loyalists, trying to preserve democracy in the Republic.”

Bail picked up the argument. “It has become increasingly clear to many of us that the Chancellor has become an enemy of democracy.”

“I can't believe it has come to this! Chancellor Palpatine is one of my oldest advisors. He served as my Ambassador when I was Queen.” Padmé exclaimed.

Giddean said, “Senator, I fear you underestimate the amount of corruption that has taken hold in the Senate.” His mouth was a grim line.

“The Chancellor has played the Senators well. They know where the power lies, and they will do whatever it takes to share in it. Palpatine has become a dictator and we have helped him to do it,” Mon added.

Bail stood, and tried to rally his fellow Senators to action. “We can't sit around debating any longer, we have decided to do what we can to stop it. Senator Mon Mothma and I are putting together an organization-”

Padmé cut him off. “Say no more. Senator Organa. I understand. At this point, somethings are better left unsaid.”

With a small sigh, Bail said, “Yes. I agree and we must not discuss this with anyone, without everyone in this group agreeing.”

Mon Mothma continued, “That means those closest to you, even family. No one can be told.”

Everyone considered Bail and Mon’s suggestion, before nodding in agreement. The meeting was over. Other than pleasantries and plans to meet again, they left Bail’s office. For his part, he tried to shake off the feeling of being a conspiratory.

 _We’re loyalists,_ he reminded himself of Mon’s words. _Two-thousand voted to deny the Chancellor more emergency powers. We don’t wish to leave, we wish to stay, fight for real and lasting peace._

 

***

 

It was Padmé who called the next meeting. Instead of congregating in one of the Senate offices, Padmé invited the same beings to her gracious apartments; Bail Mon Mothma, Bana Breemu, Teer Taneel, Fang Zar, Chi Eekway, and Giddean Danu. As soon as they gathered, the tension each Senator felt in the past fortnight cracked wide open.

“I’m worried what we’re proposing could be construed as treasonous,” Fang Zar said bluntly. “We might not be perceived as the loyalists we are.”

Padmé agreed, “We cannot let this turn into another war.”

“Absolutely, that is the last thing we want,” Bail said.

Mon said, “We are hoping to form an alliance in the Senate to stop the Chancellor from further subverting the constitution, that's all.”

“I know a Jedi I feel it would be wise to consult,” Padmé proposed carefully.

Bana Breemu, the Senator from the Humbarine sector interjected. “That would be dangerous.” She wore her hood up, as if she didn’t want her face scene and connected to potential treason.

Padmé’s hood was up, too.  Bail wondered if it made them feel safer.

“We don't know where the Jedi stand in all this,” Mon Mothma said.

“I only wish to discuss this with one, one I trust,” Padmé tried to explain.

Bail tried to read her, to discover who she might be referring to, but wasn’t sure whom she meant.

Giddean said, “Going against the Chancellor without the support of the Jedi is risky.”

“The Jedi aren't any happier with the situation than we are-” Padmé began.

“Patience, Senator,” Chi Eekway counselled.

“We have so many Senators on our side, surely that will persuade the Chancellor,” Fang Zar said.

“When you present the "Petition of the Two Thousand" to the Chancellor, things may change,” Bana Breemu said hopefully.

“Let us see what we can accomplish in the Senate before we include the Jedi,” Bail said.

Padmé sighed, but the meeting moved on to other business. He understood the impulse for action, he felt it  too. This war had gone on for so long, and with every passing minute, it felt like the Chancellor was consolidating more power. But it would take a long time to bring the whole Senate into line. Two thousand was a good start, but recruitment would take time.

When their colleagues began to leave, Padmé motioned for him to hang back.

He stepped into the ‘fresher, and when he came back out, everyone was gone and he was alone with Padmé.

“What did you want to discuss? Your Jedi?”

“No,” she said smoothly. “Not them. I wanted to tell you in person that I'm expecting a child.”

The announcement took him aback. Padmé wasn’t one to discuss her private life; Bail didn’t know if this was planned or not, or if she even had a partner. He’d never asked.  

“Congratulations!” he managed. “Forgive me, but you surprised me. What delightful news!”

“Thank you,” she offered a smile. “It was rather... unexpected.” Her smile relaxed back into her look of concern and frustration.  

Bail reached out and took her hand gently in his. “Whatever you’re worried about, whatever the Chancellor does next, it won’t rob you of the joy of this baby.”

“That’s... kind. If only it were just that.”

“What else is there?” Bail asked. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

She shook her head slightly and brought out her smile again. “I was a little worried about telling you. And I’m too much of a coward to tell Breha. Will you tell her for me?”

“It’s kind of you to worry, but I promise, Breha has heard other people announce pregnancies. But if it will keep you from feeling anxious, I’ll tell her. I know I can offer congratulations from both of us.”

“Thank you, Bail. Your support means everything.”

“Of course, Padmé. You know I consider you my friend.”

He kissed her cheek, and with a final “Let me know if you need anything,” went home to his apartment.

Bail turned on every light in the kitchen, then poured himself a glass of wine and reheated some leftovers, chopping a pepper to liven up the dish. He ate slowly and tried to think of how to tell Breha Padmé’s news. He wished she would have told Breha herself; it wasn’t like Padmé to avoid something difficult. Breha would be surprised, he thought, like he was. The Galaxy was always full of mystery and unexpected turns.

He pulled his dadapad closer, and opened his channel to Breha.

“Hi, B,” she greeted him with a smile. Her hair was down, he’d clearly caught her while she was getting ready for bed, combing out her hair, braiding it loose.

“Hi, how was your day?”

“Busy. Missed you.”

“Missed you,” he responded.

“How was the meeting?” she asked. He told her of the Two Thousand last time he was home to make sure he had her blessing. Now they referred to it in as bland of terms as possible.

“It was fine, you know. Mostly about soothing anxieties.”

“Sounds productive,” she replied, mostly managing to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She set down her brush and began the business of separating her hair into three sections. Her hands were so practiced, and Bail found it hypnotic.

He willed himself to focus. “Baby steps. Though while we’re talking of anxieties, Padmé asked me to hang back with some interesting bit of news....”

“Go on,” Breha prompted.

“She wanted me to be the one to tell you that she’s expecting a child.”

The movement of her hands stilled for a nanosecond, and then continued again. “That’s wonderful! I hope you told her that it’s wonderful.”

“I think I might have said it was delightful,” he said smiling softly. “Did you know if she has a partner? She seems distracted and tense.”

Breha frowned. “She’s never mentioned anyone to me. I assumed she preferred to keep her private life quiet, so I never asked.”

“Likewise,” said Bail. “I said if there was anything I could do to help her, she should let me know.”

Breha finished her braid, snapping a binder around the end. “That’s alright, then. She knows she can turn to us for anything. She told you and no one else at the meeting,” she reasoned.

“I suppose.” He leaned forward and tried to read her, even though she was so far away. The flickering holo-connection always seemed inadequate to him. “How are you?” he asked again.

“Tired,” she confessed.

“Me too. Long day tomorrow, too.”

“Same. But I have a meeting with Miko tomorrow, about adopting.”

“Let’s get a little girl with long dark hair like yours,” Bail said.

She tilted her head to the side. “Is it weird that we can just... pick a child?”

“No stranger than biology, I guess,” Bail said. “And anyway, one imagines there would be some sort of ...emotional connection? I clearly have more research to do.”

“I agree, though. Emotional connections. Love at first sight.”

He smiled at that. “What a lovely thought.”

She smiled, a little wistfully. “Yes. Maybe we’ll dream of her tonight.”

Bail laughed. “Are you signalling you’d like to go to bed?”

He caught her mid-yawn, which turned into a chuckle. “I guess so. I love you, Bail. Give Padmé my love when you see her next.”

“I will. I love you, B. Dream of our little girl.”

“I’ll try,” she said.

He ended the call. He pushed the datapad away and dragged his hands through his hair. He missed Breha always, but it felt especially strong tonight. He drew himself up and turned off all the lights. Bail got ready for sleep, but paused at his window to greet the three moons that currently hovered over Coruscant: Centax-2 and -3, and Hesperidium this night. Some people wished on stars, he knew. But tonight he wished for Padmé’s pregnancy, Padmé’s child, and of course, the child he and Breha would find and love. One moon for each.


	19. of nothing and whom dawn loves most to touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart, and the pieces that remain must be fit together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to mrstater for betaing this chapter before her lovely vacation! So dedicated! 
> 
> And the title is from "[and what were roses. Perfume?for i do]" by e.e. cummings.

Bail sped towards the Jedi Temple, the structure was billowing smoke and swarmed by Clone Troopers. Padmé had been right to call him, and he’d been right to leave immediately for the Temple. Something was clearly horribly wrong. Bail flew closer and landed. He jumped out of the speeder and approached the four troopers. They lowered their blasters as they recognized him.

“What's going on here?” Bail demanded.

An unfamiliar Clone sergeant replied, “There's been a rebellion. Don't worry, sir, the situation is under control.”

Bail took a step forward and was stopped.

The sergeant continued. “I'm sorry, sir. No one is allowed entry.”

The Clones lifted their blasters again and took aim at him.

“It's time for you to leave, sir,” the Sergeant said mildly.

Hot terror and raced up and down the back of Bail’s throat. “And so it is,” he managed.

Bail carefully backed towards his speeder, reluctant to show the Troopers a target. His mind raced, and then several shots rang out. A Youngling darted out, attempting an escape and after his attempts to block several blaster bolts with his lightsaber, he was mowed down.

Seeing he could do nothing for the child, the _child_ , Bail jumped into his speeder and slammed the controls into the highest gear. He fought the urge to circle the temple, to look for more children that he could actually help.

Why would the Clones slaughter children?

Fear coursed through him as he sent a coded message to his security team.

He met the _Tantive III_ at his landing platform and found his aids were already safely aboard. Bail was glad he had only a small staff on Coruscant; he’d sent people home when the war began and made sure the entire staff could be evacuated on one starcruiser.

Aboard the vessel, he was greeted by Raymus.

“Were you able to get hold of a Jedi homing beacon?” Bail asked, coming up the ramp.

“Yes, we've encountered no opposition. The Clones are still in a state of confusion. It appears no one is in command.”

“That will change soon. Hopefully we'll be able to intercept a few Jedi before they walk into this catastrophe.” Bail led the way to the bridge to help monitor for comminiques and to send out warnings.

He didn’t know many Jedi by name that hadn’t already been lost in the war, but he decided to start with Master Yoda’s frequency.

His face appeared on his communication deck almost immediately.

“Master Yoda! You’re safe!”

“Yes, left the Wookiees I have. Wondering, I was, if safety on Coruscant can be found?”

Bail raked his hands through his hair. “I cannot guarantee that, Master. Your Temple is burning, attacked by Clones.”

“Grave, this is.”

He did not ask about the children, and Bail didn’t have the heart to tell him. He’d only seen the fate of one. There was no telling what was happening inside, if the others were safe.

“I am in the space outside of Coruscant, hiding behind Centax-3, should you wish to rendezvous. I am trying to reach other Jedi to warn them.” 

“My thanks, Senator Organa. Shortly, I will join you.”

Bail mentally ran through the few Jedi he knew that were still alive. He decided to reach out to Master Kenobi next. There was a burst of static as he repeated the message, before the calm, steady voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I've locked on. Repeat.” He came into his focus.

“Master Kenobi?” Bail confirmed.

“Senator Organa! My Clone Troops turned on me- I need help,” Obi-Wan said.

“We have just heard from Master Yoda. It appears this ambush has happened everywhere. He’s on his way to me, I’ll send you our coordinates.”

Master Yoda arrived just before Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the three of them were relieved to be in each other’s company.

Yoda addressed the situation first as he greeted Obi-Wan. “Master Kenobi, dark times are these. Good to see you, it is.”

“You were attacked by your Clones, also?” Obi-Wan asked. The three of them made their way down to the corridor.

“With the help of the Wookiees, barely escaped, I did,” Yoda said.

“How many other Jedi managed to survive?” asked Obi-Wan.

“Heard from no one, have we,” Yoda said. He leaned heavily on his cane.

Bail said, “I saw thousands of troops attack the Jedi Temple. That's why I went looking for Yoda.”

“Have we had any contact from the Temple?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Received a coded retreat message, we have,” Yoda explained.

They paused. Bail continued, “It requests all Jedi to return to the Temple. It says that the war is over-”

“Well, then we must go back! If there are other stragglers, they will fall into the trap and be killed,” Obi-Wan said.

Bail said, “It's too dangerous to return.”

“Suggest dismantling the coded signal, do you?” Yoda clarified.

“Yes, Master. There is too much at stake here,” Obi-Wan insisted. 

“I agree. And a little more knowledge might light our way.”

Bail led the Jedi Masters to the bridge to direct Raymus back to Coruscant. They charted their flightpath when they received a transmission from the planet.

“A message from the Chancellor's office, sir,” the pilot said.

“Send it through,” said Bail. 

“Yes, sir." Mas Amedda appeared on the holoscreen. They could see him, but the pilot didn't project their image back, knowing full well the Jedi were fugitives.

“Senator Organa, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic requests your presence at a special session of Congress,” Mas Amedda said, his voice one of arrogance. Bail knew he loved to order Senators around.

Calmly, Bail replied, “Tell the Chancellor I will be there.”

“Very well. He will be expecting you."

“It could be a trap,” Bail said when the transmission ended. He didn’t really want to walk into one.

“No, I don't think so," Obi-Wan said. "The Chancellor will not be able to control the thousands of star systems without keeping the Senate intact.”

“If a special session of Congress there is, easier for us to enter the Jedi Temple it will be,” Yoda added.

 

***

 

The Chancellor was already speaking as Bail signed into the Senate and hurried through the halls of the Main Senate Chamber. Instead of going straight to his own disc, he went to the Senate Pod of Naboo and sat next to Padmé. Representative Binks and her two handmaidens shifted to give them as much privacy as they could.

Palpatine’s face was disfigured, discolored, horrifically so, but he did not pause his speech. "...and the Jedi Rebellion has been foiled.”

“I was held up,” Bail whispered. “What's happening?”

“The Chancellor has been elaborating on a plot by the Jedi, to overthrow the Senate,” Padmé said.

“That's not true!” Bail hissed.

“He's been presenting evidence all afternoon.”

“And the Senate will go along with it, just like they always do,” Bail said bitterly.

Palpatine reached the crescendo of his speech: “The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.”

Applause rippled through the Senate at this. Padmé shifted.

“Any collaborators will suffer the same fate!” More applause, and then the Chancellor continued, “These have been trying times, but we have passed the test. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning.” Roaring applause broke out, longer and louder this time.

Padmé murmured, “Well, this is the moment we discover if he intends to return the Republic to a democracy.” She did not sound confident.

“In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society which I assure you will last for ten thousand years.”

Cheers rang through the chambers. Palpatine went on, “An empire that will continue to be ruled by this august body, and a sovereign ruler chosen for life.” His voice rang out over the applause. “An empire ruled by the majority, ruled by a new constitution!”

“So this is how liberty dies, with thunderous applause.” There was cold fury in her voice.

“We cannot let this happen.” Bail was shocked, the last few hours had been unexplainable, but this was not to be borne. He made to stand but Padmé rested a hand on his wrist.

“Not now! There will be a time,” she cautioned.

Bail ran his fingers through his hair and wondered what to say to Breha. She knew nothing of this, but she would soon learn of it.

 

***

 

Bail watched a ship leave his landing platform. He arranged for his staff to be sent back to Breha with half of his security detail, while he would follow in the _Tantive III_. He'd been a leader in the Two Thousand, and he and Mon thought it best that they move some of their staff out of immediate reach, should the Emperor wish to retaliate against any dissent. They’d offered up an excuse, a rarely celebrated holiday on Alderaan, and hopefully no one would look too closely--

He boarded the _Tantive III_ and before he had a chance to compose himself, he received a message from the Queen on their most secure frequency in old Alderaani which essentially translated to, “ _WHAT THE_ _KRIFF_ _IS GOING ON?!_ ”

“I don’t know, but I will come home and explain what I know soon,” he promised her in the same language.

It was then that he received a transmission from Yoda.

 

***

 

Fate, or the Force, or the end of the Galaxy brought him here, to the isolated asteroid of Polis Massa. This was a medical facility, and the meddroids monitored Padmé, rescued from Anakin Skywalker’s rage--or Darth Vader’s rage. Bail was having trouble wrapping his head around it. Kenobi’s story was so outrageous; he smelled of sulfur and death even as he carried Padmé to safety.

She couldn’t die. Everything else was dead, but Padmé was one of his oldest friends. So full of passion and plans to make the Galaxy better.

It was so lonely, so cold on Polis Massa. He wished Breha was here.

His fingertips wore furrows into his skull, the heels of his palm pressed against his temples. Yoda breathed deeply next to him, appealing to the Force.

Padmé lay in the operating theater, Obi-Wan holding her hand.

The droids were trying to save the twins -- _twins!_ \-- she was carrying. Bail was failing her, but he didn’t know what to do with a woman in labor. He and Breha had never gotten this far. And she was _dying_ , and there was no Force that could save her.

 _But it wasn’t right_. It couldn’t be this way. Mothers were supposed to stay, to care for their children. This was a primitive medical facility, it was true, but surely the life support systems would be sufficient. He couldn’t bear to watch Padmé now. Even if she was beyond caring, he wasn’t. If Breha was here, she would be the one holding Padmé’s hand, not Obi-Wan. If Breha was here, maybe he would have the courage to be next to Padmé too. _Help her_ , Breha had said all those years ago, when Padmé was a child herself, behind a mask of paint and fury.

But Breha wasn’t there, and all of them were isolated, satellites drifting past each other. Bail hadn’t known that Anakin was such a gravitational force until this moment.

The Galaxy was ending, wasn’t it?

A small cry broke through Bail’s spiraling thoughts. He forced himself to look up and saw Obi-Wan holding a small, red newborn. He showed the baby to Padmé, who reached over to stroke the baby’s wet cheek.

The meddroid was back at Padmé’s feet, and after a moment, the second child was born, cradled by the meddroid. Bail watched Padmé say something, but it was so soft, only Obi-Wan would have been able to hear, especially over the cries of the second baby.

And then she was gone, the twins orphaned.

Yoda looked devastated, Obi-Wan, shocked. Bail put his head back in his hands. 

The next thing he knew, he was back aboard the _Tantive III_ with the Jedi Masters, speeding towards Naboo. In Bail’s quarters, Raymus looked after Padmé’s twins.

Padmé lay in a guest bed. But Bail didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about what was to come on Naboo.

He was so tired, but he met with Obi-Wan and Yoda in his conference room. _Help her_ , he kept thinking, but he didn’t know how.

Yoda said, “Pregnant, she must still appear. Hidden, safe, the children must be kept.”

“We must take them somewhere the Sith will not sense their presence,” said Obi-Wan.

“Split up, they should be,” Yoda suggested.

 _Help her,_ Bail could almost hear Breha, even though he’d not been in contact with her. “My wife and I will take the girl. We've long talked of adopting a baby girl. She will be loved with us.”

“And what of the boy?” Obi-Wan asked.

Bail opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Yoda put in a suggestion.

“To Tatooine. To his family, send him.”

“I will take the child and watch over him,” Obi-Wan vowed. 

“Strong the Force runs, in the Skywalker line. Hope, we can. Done, it is. Until the time is right, disappear we will,” Yoda concluded.

Bail wanted to take him too, but Yoda was right. Together, the twins would be a powerful beacon.

Heartsick, Bail left the conference room, leaving Obi-Wan to confer with Yoda one last time. He sent one more message to the Queen, again in old Alderaani, “I found her, B.” And then he went into his chambers to see the twins. Raymus nodded at Bail and slipped out.

“Hello, you two,” he said. They were both awake, swaddled expertly but for their arms, surveying the room warily. He didn’t know quite what to say, only he wanted to prepare them for what looked to be a long separation. How could they share the space under Padmé’s heart for so long and live without each other from now on? He touched the boy’s cheek where Padmé touched him - Luke. And to Leia, his daughter now, he offered his pinkie which she grasped tightly. 

“I wish there was a better solution. But I’ve learned that sometimes the best you can do is compromise. This is the worst sort of compromise, I admit.”

Luke huffed, Leia flailed her other arm clumsily into her brother. But both seemed attentive. Bail kept a hand on both of them.

“Listen well. What we do, we do knowing it is not right. Your mother... your mother would no doubt have a better solution. But this? Is temporary. I promise you.”

Luke yawned, and Leia twitched a foot under her blanket. Bail didn’t know what else to say. He stroked Luke’s cheek, extracted his finger from Leia’s iron grip.

Obi-Wan came in next, and Bail made himself scarce. He had things to do, to deal with the droids and contact Padme’s family. He would not be able to stay for her funeral, however. He did not dare stay with Leia. He would bring her home, to Breha. To Alderaan.

 

***

 

Breha waited for Bail on their most private, most protected balcony of the palace. She watched the mountains in the distance, the way the light played on the snow this time of day. Patience, she told herself. It wouldn’t be long now.

“ _I found her, B_.”

It had been hours since Bail’s message reached her.

She couldn’t explain how she knew that he was bringing their daughter home. The circumstances were a mystery. She only knew that this time, this labor, this waiting, would finally bring her what she’d always wanted.

Democracy in the Galaxy was at an end. Her dear friend Padmé was gone. The world as she knew it had ended.

And yet, as Bail approached with the wriggling bundle, it began anew.

Without a word, he passed the newborn to Breha. She looked into the wide, dark eyes of her daughter and fell instantly in love with her. She had a tiny cupid’s bow of a top lip, her perfect fingers curled and uncurled as she considered her circumstances, pearly nails flashed dully in the fading light. Her hair was a soft, dark wisp, her cheeks plump and pink. She was warm in Breha’s arms, tiny, but dense.

“Does she have a name?” Breha finally asked.

“Leia,” said Bail.

“Welcome, Leia,” Breha said, leaning close to her daughter’s forehead and breathed in the powdery smell of her. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Bail wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and he leaned heavily into her. She leaned back. While Breha cradled Leia, Bail seemed to be unable to quite let Leia go, resting a hand on her feet, her tummy, allowing his finger to be caught in her fast grip.

“Tell me everything,” Breha commanded.

“She’s Padmé’s, too,” Bail said so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

“What?” she whispered. His words conjured the holo of a Rominaria plant in a temple garden that she deleted long ago. She’d never told him about it. And now-

“And she has a twin brother, Luke.”

Breha closed her eyes for a moment and tipped her head back. She breathed deeply, in and out. So Padmé’s children lived, some pieces of her, fragmented though they may be, grew beyond her.

“Are you alright?” Bail asked.

“I don’t know. But you can’t stop there.”

So he spilled the story of Anakin and Padmé, and they wept for the loneliness of it, of Padmé’s death, of Anakin’s fall, of the death and exile of the Jedi, of their daughter, torn asunder from her twin.

“I promised her, promised them both, really, that this separation is temporary. That they will know each other,” Bail confessed.

Breha nodded. “You were right to make that promise. We will have to work towards a galaxy where that is possible.”

Leia started to fuss now, and Breha held her a little closer and rocked her. She glanced up at the walls of the palace where she would raise her daughter in the shadow of the mountains. “We shall have to prepare her for the work ahead. No doubt Obi-Wan will train Luke for his journey. And we will have to operate under the assumption that we will be watched every step of the way.”

“No doubt,” Bail said.

Leia wailed.

Breha stood. “First things first, we’ll have to get this one a bottle and prepare a nursery in the apartments. Make an official announcement. Possibly get a governess.” She took a few steps towards the door and then turned back to look at her husband. Her eyes still felt wet with tears.

“Thank you, B.”

He came to stand beside her, looking down at their crying princess.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

“For her, for Padmé’s hope. And ours.”

He kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her shoulders again. Together, with Leia, the little family stepped inside Aldra Palace for the first time.


	20. perching on this silver minute of evening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alderaan gets a moon, and nothing could fill Breha with more horror and dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, first and foremost to mrstater for betaing this fic, chapter by chapter, week by week, and was totally cool when I added a chapter! What a champ! It’s been a long journey and I’m so glad you shared your beta-ing gifts so graciously and generously. 
> 
> Thanks to my love, e.e. cummings. The chapter title this week comes from “[notice the convulsed orange inch of moon]”. 
> 
> And thank you, finally, to all of you for reading this headcanon that spun out of control. I hope you liked it. I wrote it for you.

_Nineteen years later-_

 

_"The Imperial Senate reports a distress signal was heard from the Tantive IV, and despite Imperial intervention, it was too late for the souls aboard. There were no survivors. The Tantive IV was undergoing repairs for a broken hyperdrive and damaged engines. The Crown Princess, Galactic Senator Leia Organa was believed to be aboard."_

Breha went cold when the news broke. Kista burst into her office, and the Governors left their Queen in silence. Breha sat at her desk and waited. For what, she wasn’t sure. So many confusing messages from the galaxy at large crossed her desk in the past few hours. Mining accidents and weapons tests. The dissolution of the Senate. And now, this.

But Leia was just here, enjoying a brief Senate recess before joining her father on Yavin 4.

Breha couldn’t think straight. It was if someone had blown a hole in her head, her heart. She could almost feel her heartstrings tugging, her synapses firing, but nothing could be processed. It would do no good. The Queen of Alderaan sat frozen at her desk, shivering like she’d never be warm again. No one came in, no communiques reached her secure datapad. She felt she’d been turned to stone. That should be impossible. Unless her office was a carbon freezing chamber. Unlikely.

Except that she still couldn’t move. Leia had just been here, an infant in her arms, a small and willful little girl, a precocious twelve year old, a university student. She was just learning about the world, the galaxy. Testing her mother at swordplay. Dutifully building up an immunity to poisons and truth serums. Learning to fly a speeder, shoot a blaster. Memorizing secret codes, practicing elocution. Running a senatorial campaign. Leia was an infant. A child. A young woman. A bright spark. Her hope.

Breha's mind cycled between nothing and everything. _She was just here_. Leia, formulating new plans, new bills, researching Senators with whom to forge new alliances. She had _just started_. No survivors. No Leia, no Raymus, no Artoo or Threepio. _No Leia_. Her brain went completely quiet again. For how long, she couldn’t say.

The door opened and Bail was there.

She knew it was Bail without looking up. Her mind whirred back into _everything_ mode. Memories of the two of them, the three of them, edited together in her mind, in reverse, ending with him placing Leia in her arms the day she came home with him. Leia chose them, what other explanation could there be for Bail to answer Yoda’s call that fateful day? And now another fateful day was upon them. Yoda was nowhere to be found, and this time it was Bail who was reaching out to the Jedi.

“She’s....” Bail started.

“I...” Breha tried at the same time. They both fell silent. _Six_ , she wanted to say. Six lost to them. And no chance to try again.

“Tell me everything,” she said. Her heart shattered as Bail finally, finally, strode over to her desk, fell to his knees, his head in her lap. They’d both aged a thousand years since they saw each other last, since they saw their daughter. She should cut her hair, she thought, as short as Bail’s.

She leaned down over his head and cried with him, her tears falling into his hair, her dress growing damp with his. He told her about Yavin 4, Scariff, the weapon and its tests. How he sent Leia for Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for the other child, the boy, as they discussed just a few weeks ago, as he promised them both hours after they were born. How there were reports of the Shadow, the Watchdog, choose whatever euphemism for Vader you liked. There, at Scariff. A blade of fire, slicing through Alderaan’s bravest and finest.

Breha thought about the report she heard, the vagueness of it. If Leia was in fact alive, she was in Vader’s hands. She began to shiver again. Countless scenarios skirted around the holes in her head. _This ends with Vader finding out just who Leia is._ She offered up thanks that Leia did not know of her twin. But she didn’t want to think of his safety at the moment. It pained her enough to hope for Leia’s death before she reached Tatooine.

“Deara and Kista are working on a statement,” Breha said. She pulled herself up, her spine straight once more. For now, at least.

Bail nodded against her lap, not trusting himself to speak any more. She couldn’t feel her legs, but there was nowhere she wanted to go anyway. Instead she rested her hands in Bail’s hair, going gray now, he wrapped his arms around the small of her back.

After some time, Breha began noticing other things, the hardness of her chair. The chrono ticking on the wall. The silence from the antechamber. And the humming of a crowd.

It was muted, but defined. Bail eased off his knees, wincing (when did they both get so old?), and she carefully got to her feet. Bail steadied her when she wobbled, a familiar warm hand on her elbow. New callouses snagged her delicate gray sleeve.

They went to the the main balcony of the palace, where she went to wave on holy days, and after Leia was born. After her coronation, and her wedding. Breha had only celebrated from here. The hum of the crowd got louder as they made their way to the balcony, and rose to a brief roar as they stepped out to survey their people. Their beloved fellow citizens. They all lost their princess, who’d dressed in white and in hope every day of her life.

Breha rested her hand on her heart in a silent salute, and in thanks to the people of Aldra. Bail wept openly. There were a few flashes from recording droids, but mostly there was just a sense of shared grief. There was a moment that Breha wondered where her veil was, the one she’d worn at her mother’s funeral rites.

She didn’t know how to measure time in this moment. They stood out there as long as they could, until Breha started shivering again, and then they went in, up the stairs to their chambers, meeting almost no one on their way to their apartments. Into bed, still dressed, still grief stricken.

Neither of them knew what to say, what to do next.

“She was just here,” Breha offered.

“I sent her away,” Bail’s voice was choked with guilt.

She leaned all her weight on him. “She had to know.”

“Do you think she knows now?”

Does one learn all of life’s secrets in death? Some believed it was true. Breha had no idea if they were right. Death to her just meant more questions, logistics to sort out. Optics to consider. Not answers. She certainly didn’t have answers now.

“If she doesn’t, no doubt Padmé is with her.” And maybe that was a comforting thought. Leia claimed to remember her real mother when she was a child. From the mouths of babes, those comments cut her parents to their respective cores and filled them with terror, but now it was a comfort, that Leia might meet Padmé, and perhaps know her.

Bail nodded again.

The day was not over.

 

A long shadow seemed to stretch over their bed, and Breha went from cold to freezing.

Bail rallied first, Breha pulled herself up after him. Together they went out to their private balcony that faced the mountains, not the crowd around the front. They looked up and Breha saw, for the first time, the manifestation of everything she'd fought against. For what else could it be?

“It looks like a moon,” she offered quietly.

“It does.”

 _“Mirrorbright, shines the moon,”_ went the lullaby. “ _its glow as soft as an ember.”_ Sung to her by Bara, one she sang to Leia as an infant. One she embodied every morning when she got dressed in her grays. The silver she had worn as a bride, so long ago now.

 _“When the moon is mirrorbright, take this time to remember  
_ _Those you have loved but are gone  
_ _Those who kept you so safe and warm_  
_The mirrorbright moon lets you see”_

For the thousandth time that day, Breha remembered what it was to hold Leia as a baby, as she’d never been able to do with those five lost pregnancies. She remembered laughter, tantrums, mysterious grease stains, bruises, brief cuddles, and smiles. Her daughter crawling into bed with her almost every single morning as a child.

 _“Those who have ceased to be  
_ _Mirrorbright shines the moon, as fires die to their embers”_

There was no time for a statement. There was only time to step into Bail’s arms. He held her close. Neither trembled, neither were afraid, just unbearably sad under the weight of their memories; a small stone, a pack of handwritten letters, a chant of _Bitter, bitter!_ There was laserfire, there was light, and there were Bail’s arms around her. He smelled so good, a little spicy from his lingering aftershave. His tunic was wrinkled under her fingertips. As he held her, she thought of their first, sweet kiss at the Cloudshape Falls, the dull roar of the water and the pressure of their passion that would not be denied.

 _“Those you loved are with you still—  
_ _The moon will help you remember.”_

With this last thought, she leaned up and kissed him like it was the first time.


End file.
